Halfway to the Moon
by VR Trakowski
Summary: A sequel to Rollercoaster. GSR
1. Chapter 1

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. Folks, I owe this story to Cincoflex's constant encouragement, suggestions, patience, and general cheering on. She's a gem of a beta and a wonderful friend, and the great fic is just a bonus! Also, I'd like to thank WP1fan for suggesting a sequel, because that set off a whole chain of ideas...and here we are...**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_August 2008_

Grissom sat back in the airplane seat, book open on his lap but unread, and stared blindly at the view outside the window to his left. Brilliant white clouds bigger than mountains stretched as far as the eye could see below, and above was the hard blue curve of the upper atmosphere, but he saw none of it.

All his attention was fixed on his destination, somewhere many miles and several hours ahead of him. A small town as cities go, but large in ego, and of a certain importance; the only thing that mattered to Grissom, however, was one person who lived there.

_Well, not in D.C., precisely--in Virginia. But at that distance there's hardly any difference. _

It had been quite a few years since he'd been to the nation's capital. He remembered it as busy, humid, and full of gridlocked traffic, and according to Sara nothing had changed but the traffic, which had gotten worse.

Her voice had carried the authority of knowledge over the phone, the confidence of knowing her subject. Grissom had heard that tone often during the years he'd known her, but not on that particular subject.

And the past few years--at least until very recently--he hadn't heard it at all.

He rubbed absently at his breastbone. His heart hadn't yet broken the habit of aching when he thought of Sara. _But it's only been a couple of weeks. _

The anticipation at the thought of seeing her--within mere hours, probably--was nearly unbearable, but it was accompanied by worry. The Sara who'd left Las Vegas three years before was not the Sara he'd met so unexpectedly in Pennsylvania. The woman he'd known--brittle and wounded and yet indomitable--had become someone opaque and tough, someone who watched him with wary eyes even after they'd come to a hesitant understanding. He didn't have the least idea how to deal with this new Sara, not that he'd really known how to deal with her before.

But he loved her, oh yes, there was no denying that. Just the sight of her had brought back all the yearning in an agonizing rush, leaving him hurt and helpless. Spending a few hours in her company, cool and cordial, had made him long to mend things between them--even though he had no idea how, even though he didn't think it was possible.

And then she'd asked the right question, and his heart had broken its bonds and done what his mind hadn't dared. And lo and behold, that had been the key.

They'd spent a cautious day in each other's company, and that of Sara's brother and his children; Ed had offered to take the kids back to the amusement park by himself, but Sara had insisted that she wasn't going to give up their time together. But Ed had persisted in sneaking off with Joseph and Kimmy, leaving Sara and Grissom to their tentative conversation.

_Sara looked around and rolled her eyes. "They're gone. I'm gonna get Ed for this." _

_Grissom said nothing. He'd seen Ed gathering up his son and daughter when they finished their hot dogs and the three of them tiptoeing exaggeratedly away behind Sara's back, but he hadn't drawn her attention to it. He had no qualms at all about stealing every moment he could of her company. For all he knew, this could be the last day he ever saw her. _

_Sara shrugged, picking up her soda. "So, you said David moved to California?" _

_Grissom nodded, taking in her every move with covert eyes. "Mission Viejo. He took a coroner's position out there and married a criminal psychologist." _

_Sara smiled, an unexpected, sweet expression. "Good for him. He's one of the finest people I know. He deserves to be happy." _

_He couldn't help stepping into the opening. "How about you, Sara? Are you happy?" _

_The night before, it might have just been an innocent question. Today, it wasn't. _

_The look she shot him mingled hurt, anger, suspicion…and a certain wry amusement. "Tell you what, Grissom. You answer that question, and then I will." _

_If she thought that would make him back down, she was wrong. In the past, it would have, but in the past he had only been this daring once. "No. I'm not." _

_She blinked at him, but where she might once have shifted in her chair or crossed her arms, she now remained still and outwardly relaxed, only the cup in her hand turning slowly as her fingers moved. When she said nothing, he rested an elbow on the little metal table and put his chin in his hand. "And you?" _

_Sara took another sip of her drink. "I'm content," she said after a moment. "I love my job, and Ed's family is a blast. And it's nice being a daywalker again." The cup spun, ice rustling against the paper sides. "But no, I'm not happy." _

_He nodded, and that was all they said on the subject. There could be any number of reasons why she wasn't happy, Grissom knew that; it might have nothing to do with him. But he also knew Sara still, on some level, and the way she'd phrased her answer made it quite clear. _

_Besides, she'd already told him her dream. _

Grissom had left the next day on his scheduled flight, tasting her on his lips--not from the impossible, desperate kiss they'd shared that first night, but from a brief one he'd taken when they'd said goodbye in the airport terminal. He'd reached out and cupped her face in his palm, and leaned in, and while she hadn't moved he'd felt her trembling as he pulled away. Her eyes had been dark with doubt.

He'd spent his life pursuing certainties. He vowed to do his best to erase that doubt and replace it with the firmest certainty possible.

So here he sat, having set aside his career and his home and his friends to chase a dream he'd given up on years before. Brass might have called it a mid-life crisis, but Grissom knew it had nothing to do with age at all--it had to do with necessity.

It was frightening, though. Not the leave of absence or the new city--he wasn't so hidebound that he couldn't deal with change--but the terrifying sense of a last chance.

_But it's better than the no chance I had before. _

Grissom sighed, and fiddled with the book in his lap. He looked down to find that it had fallen open at the spot where he'd tucked in the card Sara had sent him--her only physical communication with him in three years. Their chance meeting had spurred phone calls and e-mails, but mostly those were exchanges of information--they had both agreed, without discussion, to put off anything deeper until he reached the East Coast.

The card was simple and plain, probably from a stock she kept for formal thank-yous. No picture or monogram graced its front; inside were only a few sentences, and Grissom could see that Sara had restrained her usual scrawl to make her writing more legible.

_Grissom--Thank you for the flowers. I'll see you in a week. _

And under that, a quote from Yeats:

_I have spread my dreams under your feet;_

_Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

Both a warning and a promise, and Grissom appreciated the dual meaning. Sara was taking as terrible a chance as he, letting him back into her life, but she was doing it for herself.

Because she wanted to.

**xxxxxxxx**

Sara stared at the mirror over her dresser as she buttoned her blouse, and scolded the image before her. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Her reflection gave her nothing back but a worried frown. She did up the last button and shrugged into her suit jacket. _You were supposed to be over him…done…finished. But no, you're inviting him back for an indefinite stay. Are you nuts!_

She checked her makeup and hair one more time with a practiced, absent eye and whirled away to collect her badge. Her gun already rode her hip and her overcoat was in her car, three stories down in the garage. Sara hastened through the big room without really seeing it, or the weak light that was seeping in through the skylights. Mornings were a bit of a balancing act in the Sidle household.

She ran down two flights of stairs to the main level, where the scent of coffee originated, and where Ed was burying his face in a mug of it in the kitchen. His mop of brown hair stood out wildly around his head, and he was apparently oblivious to the cartoons on the small kitchen TV or his children devouring toast and cereal around him. Sara had to smirk a little, as she did each day. Her brother was _not_ a morning person.

"Hey, Aunt Sara," Joey managed around a mouthful of cornflakes and milk, and Sara brushed a kiss over his head and threw a wave at Kimmy, who had become less touchy-feely over the past year. The girl, immersed in a book and apple juice, waved back. Sara didn't have to ask if she was ready to go; her backpack and jacket already sat leaning against the kitchen island. Kimmy took after her aunt in organization.

"How late were you up last night?" Sara asked Ed cheerfully, tousling his hair further and ignoring his glare.

"Were you talking to yourself again this morning?" he hissed quietly back, and she shoved his head a little and went for another mug. Only Ed was allowed to twit her about her dialogues with her mirror, silent or spoken, but then only Ed would dare.

Sara filled the travel mug with coffee--she'd already had her toast, before anyone else had gotten up--and added the last of the half-and-half before tossing the carton in the garbage can. And there in the can, wilted and browning, was one of the reasons she'd passed over into insanity and told Grissom he could visit if he liked. Two dozen long-stemmed roses, pink for hope and red for love, now past their prime.

Well, twenty-two, anyway. One of each color lay carefully drying in Sara's room, next to the card that had come with them, the one that read only _Please believe me._

The other reasons, which Sara always put aside in her morning spasms of doubt, crowded to mind at the sight of the blooms, and she shoved them down for the moment. "All set, Kimmy?"

Her niece slid down from the stool and tucked the book into her backpack before taking her glass to the sink. "Gotta brush my teeth."

"Cool." Sara glanced at the clock, more out of habit than anything else; they had this down to a science now, and were well within schedule. She fitted the lid on her mug and glanced over at her brother. "It's Thursday, right?"

Ed grunted, the caffeine apparently having little effect as yet. Sara leaned back against the counter and took a sip. "And Thursday is Gracie's early day."

"Yep!" Joey agreed, chasing a last cornflake with his spoon. Sara smiled sweetly at Ed.

"So…don't you think you should at least get out of your pajamas before she gets here?"

Ed's eyes opened slowly to stare at Sara, then widened. With a yelp, he sprang off the stool and ran out of the room, leaving his sister and son to giggle helplessly.

_Oh yeah, he's definitely got a crush on Gracie. _Ed's flannel bottoms and ancient "Microbiology Lab--Staph Only" T-shirt were respectable enough, and his reaction was just one more piece of evidence to Sara that he harbored tender feelings for the serene housekeeper. She was glad to see it. Ed had adored his wife, and had walked a thin line for months after her death, but Sara didn't want him spending the rest of his life alone.

She took another gulp of coffee. "I'm going to go start the car," she told Joey, whose attention was now fixed on the TV. "I'll see you tonight."

Her nephew turned Ed's wide smile on her. "Bye, Aunt Sara!"

She winked at him, and headed for the stairs.

The car sitting next to Ed's minivan in the double garage was her one indulgence, impractical and expensive and exactly what she wanted. The Mercedes convertible was no longer state-of-the-art, since it was now four years old, but that bothered her not one bit. Sara slid behind the wheel to wait for her niece, and tilted the rear-view mirror to make sure her hair was still in place. Some mornings it was stubborn about the chignon.

Her own eyes looked back at her solemnly. "Sometimes…it's good to be crazy," she told herself softly, not sure whether she was referring to her car or her invitation to Grissom.

The other reasons clamored softly for attention. The fact that Grissom was willing to leave everything behind to come see her; the fact that her leaving Las Vegas had been something of an overreaction; and the kiss that she sometimes thought she could still feel burning on her lips, born out of his despair.

Not to mention the glaring fact that despite three years of silence and concentrated effort, she hadn't managed to pry him from her heart.

The passenger door opened and Kimmy plopped into the seat, twisting to dump her pack in the back. "It's supposed to storm," she said.

"Figures," Sara said wryly as they put on their seatbelts. Kimmy reminded her a little of Lindsey Willows, all long hair and big eyes, but her hair was her mother's raven-black and she had her father's sharp mind. "'Push the button, Max'."

And Kimmy, still young enough to get a kick out of it, hit the garage door control with a giggle. The door rolled up, and Sara started the engine and backed the car out into the cloudy world.

**xxxxxxxx**

Work kept her busy most of the day--mainly research, as she was between active investigations at the moment. But eventually three o'clock rolled around, and Sara pulled herself from the bowels of the Internet--_thanks so much, Google--_and headed out of the office. The Bureau allowed for some flexibility in hours, and she had a plane to meet.

The butterflies she'd kept at bay all day woke up with a vengeance and began rocketing around her stomach as she pointed the convertible's nose towards the highway. It didn't help that she ran into traffic almost immediately.

By the time she reached the airport, frustration and nerves tangling inside her, Sara knew Grissom's plane had already landed, but they'd made arrangements to meet at the baggage carousel anyway. It was moving when she reached it, and half-hidden behind passengers; Sara slowed her steps to look for the familiar solid silhouette.

There he was, near where the carousel's conveyor belt went back through the wall. He hadn't spotted her yet, and she took a moment to observe him--the first time in three years she had seen him unawares.

He still looked tired, defeated. His shoulders were bowed as he stared down at the passing bags, and a desire swelled in her to go over there and take him into her arms, and soothe the hurt that weighed on him so heavily.

_Oh no you don't,_she told herself severely. _No way. For all you know this is just one of his weird impulses, and he'll turn around next week and tell you it's a mistake and he's going back to Vegas. Control, Sidle, you have to stay in control. _

She didn't really think he was going to back out of this attempt at…whatever…that they were trying, but she wasn't about to make herself vulnerable to him just yet, any more than she already had.

But, Sara had to admit, she was glad to see him.

She was about twenty feet away when Grissom looked up and saw her, and while the tentative delight that spread over his face didn't quite dispel the sadness there, it warmed her all unwilling. She felt a smile curving her own lips, and let it bloom.

**xxxxxxxx**

She took his breath away. A clichéd phrase, he knew it, but still the most precise for his situation. Grissom watched Sara stride towards him, looking crisp and professional in her suit and pumps, and wished that he was free to step forward to meet her--to pull her into his arms and kiss her as breathless as he felt. But judging from the way she came to an abrupt halt two feet away, he wasn't even allowed to lean over and kiss her cheek.

_Like most worthwhile things in life, that must be earned. Very well._ He could smile, though, and did; and he could admire, and did. "Hello, Sara."

There was a hint of a flush to her cheeks, and a few wisps of hair had escaped her chignon. "Hey, Grissom. Have a good flight?"

"Fine." He wondered if she was wearing her gun, if she was truly happy to see him, if she was annoyed at him for kissing her when he'd left. "You look…stunning."

The flush deepened, and Sara glanced down. "Um, thanks. It's just my work clothes…"

_It's not the clothes, it's you,_he wanted to say, but didn't. He didn't want to push too much, too soon.

_Don't panic her. Take your time. _Patience was required here, and he had a lot of it. Somehow just the sight of her, the pleasure in her face, dispelled the worst of his anxiety.

"Washington must suit you," he offered, and she looked up again, pleased.

"It does," and her dimples appeared. "Are you hungry?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Grissom saw his bag approaching, and leaned down to snag it. "Very."

He hoisted the duffel onto his shoulder and arched a brow at Sara, who looked a little confused. "You only have one bag?"

Grissom shrugged. "I'm having the rest of it shipped."

"Ah." Her expression smoothed out. "Good idea. C'mon, I'll take you to dinner."

She spun and started walking, but Grissom saw the slight hitch in her first step, and noted it. However hard they were pretending that this was just the meeting of old friends, at least to start with, there was much more going on under the surface. But he didn't go there; he was nowhere near ready to confront their difficulties yet himself. He hurried to catch up.

Sara's car impressed him, and he whistled softly as she popped the trunk for his bag. She grinned over her shoulder at him. "Sweet, isn't it?"

Grissom smiled back. "You always had an eye for quality. But--" He dropped the bag in and shut the trunk lid. "I thought you wanted a Mustang?"

She pressed her keychain button, and the doors unlocked. "Out of my price range," she sighed. "And not really practical right now."

Grissom swung into the passenger seat, noting that the interior was spotless but that the space behind the seats held two coloring books and a small pink sweater. "How are Joseph and Kimmy?"

Sara fastened her seatbelt. "Fine, and Joey's pretty excited about seeing you again. You seem to have made an impression."

Grissom didn't know what to say to that; he'd only done what seemed right at the time. But as Sara backed the car smoothly out of its space, he had to admire the vehicle. "Please tell me you didn't buy this new."

Sara snorted. "Are you kidding? You should never buy a new car, the value drops the second you drive it off the lot."

He grinned as she headed for the garage's exit. "You're quite right."

She drove them through a grumbling thunderstorm, to a French bistro that she said was one of her favorite stops on the way back from the airport. Grissom felt a spasm of dismay when a tall man with no hair and a bushy mustache descended on her as they stepped inside the doors, but then figured that the embrace and the lavish kisses on her cheeks were Gallic when he spoke with a French accent. Sara returned the kisses and introduced Erik as the owner and Grissom as "my friend," and Grissom returned the hearty handshake and concealed his pleasure at the label. He wasn't at all sure that they had even achieved friendship at this point, but he would take all he could get.

The food was superb. Grissom ate lamb and ratatouille and watched Sara devour salmon and spinach, and was pleased to see that she actually ate a decent amount of food. In fact--he turned a more analytical eye on her--she appeared healthier than she had three years previously, not as dangerously thin. He'd never suspected her of having an eating disorder, but he had worried that she simply didn't bother to eat enough.

But she was nervous, he could tell. She didn't fidget, but her smile was the bright one she wore when her nerves were getting the better of her, and her movements were abrupt and fast. He couldn't figure it out.

_Why should she be so nervous? Cool I could understand, or just polite, but it's almost as if…_

He felt like an idiot as it dawned on him. A hopeful idiot.

_She's trying to impress me._ Trying to tell him without words that she was successful, in control, doing quite well. Which meant that, on some level, she cared what he thought.

_Amazing. _

By the same mutual unspoken agreement, they kept the conversation light, talking about their colleagues and Sara's family. "I'll admit I'm a little surprised," Grissom said over their coffee. "You scarcely ever mentioned Ed before. I had no idea you were so close."

Sara added sugar to her cup, looking slightly embarrassed. "We weren't. Social Services split us up for a few years, you know, and we never seemed to reconnect after that. Ed grabbed a scholarship and went to UC Davis, and we mostly swapped Christmas cards. I did go to his wedding." She stirred her coffee reflectively, pursing her lips in a gentle smile.

"Did you know his wife?" Grissom was curious.

"Barely." She took a sip. "I thought she was great, though. Very smart, very sweet."

"How did she die?" he asked cautiously.

"Car accident. Ed was devastated." Sorrow softened her eyes, and Grissom wanted very much to reach out and cover her hand with his again, but he didn't dare. _Not yet. Not yet._

"So he called you?"

One corner of her mouth turned up. "He was at the end of his rope. He had a bewildered three-year-old, a heartbroken seven-year-old, and a shattered life. I think I was the only person he could think of, for some reason. Anyway, turns out we make pretty good friends now. It's--we kind of had to agree to let the past go, but once we did, things worked okay." She blinked, looking a little taken aback, as though she'd said more than she had meant to, but Grissom just nodded.

"I wonder how one does that," he mused, only half-aware of what he was saying.

Sara cocked her head. "Does what?"

"Goes on, after a loss. I never figured it out." Grissom bit his tongue on further words, suddenly aware of having said too much. Sara was staring at him, eyes wide.

"So, you live with them now?" he asked hastily, hoping she would let it slide for now. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed and she picked up her cup again.

"Yeah. I suppose I should get my own place eventually, but I never have time to hunt for an apartment."

They discussed the pros and cons of apartments versus houses for the rest of the meal, skirting weightier topics. It was dark when they left the restaurant, but Sara seemed confident of her route as they drove towards the address Grissom provided.

"I've driven it a lot," she explained when he asked. "For a while I was doing a lot of traveling for work, so I got to know all the major airports pretty well."

"Do you still?" Grissom asked, apprehensive, but she shook her head and braked for a red light.

"On occasion, but I've been posted back at the home base for a while now." She reached up and pulled out a few hairpins, and her chignon dissolved into a fall of soft hair. Grissom pulled in a silent breath as the scent of it crept to him; apples and _Sara._ It was longer than it used to be, he noticed, and reached up almost without thought to snag an overlooked hairpin.

But as soon as his fingers touched the strands, he was very, very present. It was as though she had some invisible boundary around her, Grissom thought dazedly, some field that his hand had entered. He was totally aware of her sitting so close by, and...

...And she was aware of it too, judging by the startled, intense look she was giving him. He cleared his throat, and lowered his arm until she could see the pin. "Here," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "You missed one."

"Thanks," she said blankly, and took it carefully, not touching his fingers with hers. Then the light turned green, and with an effort she broke their gaze and pressed the gas. Grissom sat back, trying to settle his body. _It appears the attraction still holds._

Though he'd never thought otherwise, really.

Instead of a hotel room or a standard apartment, Grissom had chosen to rent a furnished suite in a complex that catered to business travelers who might stay a month or more. It seemed the simplest solution, given that he had no idea how long he would be staying on the East Coast, and it wasn't as though he couldn't afford it. Sara pulled into the parking lot and looked around with approval, her composure back in place. "Good choice. Alexandria's a nice town, and you're not too far from the Metrorail."

"I haven't been here in years, but I remember it as an attractive area," Grissom agreed as she shut off the engine.

"I'll wait while you get checked in, in case there's a problem," Sara said, hitting the trunk release as he opened his door.

Somewhat to his surprise, she accompanied him to the lobby and then upstairs to his suite. The bedroom, bathroom, and office/sitting room were much like rooms in a better-grade hotel, but the suite also came with a tiny kitchen, and was set up for longer stays than a few nights. Grissom dumped his duffel on the low dresser without concern, but noticed Sara wrinkling her nose at the queen-sized bed's tidy patterned spread.

"Going to whip out the nonoxynol-9?" he teased, and she sniffed.

"_I'm_ not the one sleeping on the sheets. I hope you brought an ALS."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Grissom quipped. But the humor died away into awkwardness as they looked at each other.

Grissom had no idea of the protocol. He didn't quite dare offer a hug, but anything else seemed ridiculous.

"Well." Sara shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Grissom shifted his jaw, and nodded. "You're taking tomorrow off?"

"Yeah." Sara looked down at her feet. "I mean, that's three days with the weekend, and by Sunday night I...we..."

"Yeah," Grissom echoed, not wanting her to articulate what they were both thinking. _By Sunday night I should know whether I should stay, or if I should just go back to Vegas. _

_I don't want to go back to Vegas. Not yet._

Sara blew out a breath. "Right," she said with energy. "See you tomorrow." She pulled one hand from her pocket to give him a little wave, and then she was out the door.

Grissom watched her stride down the carpeted hall past the elevators, her head high. She didn't look back before opening the door to the stairwell, and he sighed as he closed and locked the door. On impulse, he went over to the window.

The rain had stopped while they were at dinner, leaving the air cool and redolent with the scent of wet grass. Sara appeared below within a minute, hurrying over to her car and climbing inside, and then Grissom was surprised to see the car's roof fold back and out of sight. _She's going to get cold, driving that way. _

But as he watched her fasten her seatbelt and start the car, he could see from the set of her shoulders that temperature wasn't on her mind. And as she pulled out of the parking lot, he fantasized briefly about sitting beside her, the two of them rushing down some dark narrow road, sweet chilly air pouring in around them and her laughter getting whipped away on the wind.

Then Grissom turned away and closed the curtains. _Maybe someday. If you're lucky._

He dreamed it that night too, sprawled in the unfamiliar bed; dreamed that they drove into the morning light, all the way back to a Vegas that was at the wrong end of the country, and he got to kiss her when they got there. Her cheeks were cold, but her lips were warm, warm...

He refused to wake up.

**See Chapter 2**


	2. Chapter 2

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. ** **This chapter does mention a few real people in passing, and if they don't like it, they can thump me. Heh.**

**The bistro to which Sara takes Grissom in the previous chapter does in fact exist; it's located in Columbia, Maryland, and the food is amazing. ****Café de Paris**** (cafedepariscolumbia dot com) is not cheap, but it's worth the price, and I'm told by those who would know that the wine list is pretty good too.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara woke at her usual time; she might not have to go to work, but Kimmy still had to go to school, and Sara liked to drive her if she could. It gave the two of them a little "girl time" and gave Kimmy an interval when she did not have to compete with her little brother for attention. The siblings got along fairly well for their ages, Sara judged, though she was aware that she had no real basis for comparison. But sometimes it was nice just to be the only kid for a while.

This morning, though, Sara didn't spring out of bed to get into her morning routine right away; for a little while, she lay staring at the ceiling, trying to organize her feelings. Today she and Grissom were beginning their "great experiment"; today they would begin to see if they really could make something of their ruined relationship.

It seemed unreal. She'd spent so much time and energy trying to root him out of her heart, only to have him drop back into her life and prove how little success she'd had. And where normally she would have turned her back on him, circumstances had dictated otherwise, prying open the reluctant door of her heart. His wild kiss had turned her upside down, shaking loose all her assumptions and determination until she didn't know what to think.

Part of her just wanted to walk into Grissom's arms, feel them tighten around her, and never let go again, especially now that she knew what they felt like. Part of her wanted to punish him for what he'd put her through.

Part of her simply didn't trust him. True, his taking a leave of absence and basically moving to the East Coast to be near her was a pretty firm declaration of intent, but then she'd thought once that the clasp of his hand on hers, his silent shy offer of support and comfort, was a declaration.

_Maybe it was,_ her heart whispered. _You know blowing out of Vegas like that was too much. _

She sighed, and rolled over. The only way to find out if it would work was to go ahead and try. And, leery as she was of pain, she wanted to know.

_Ugh. Time for coffee. _Sara sat up, yawning. She didn't sleep much more than she had in Vegas, but being responsible for two kids and sometimes an adult had made her more disciplined in her rest habits. It felt like a Sunday, not having to be up and moving at once. She and Grissom hadn't fixed on a particular time to meet; she thought she'd give him until midmorning at least, given the inevitable jetlag.

Sara tiptoed downstairs to start the coffee and have her usual toast and jam, and then went back upstairs to get dressed. Today she pulled on jeans and a flower-printed t-shirt instead of her work attire, and slipped her feet thankfully into ankle boots instead of pumps. _Being a CSI might have been more stressful, but the shoes were better._

But when she reentered the kitchen, she found Ed sitting at the kitchen island, dressed and--wonder of wonders--fully awake. She could hear Kimmy and Joseph in the living room, watching their cartoons there. "What's going on?" she asked, puzzled.

"Change in routine," Ed said, with a sly look that made Sara instantly suspicious. "I'm taking the kids out for breakfast this morning. Joey and I'll drop Kimmy off at school and be back before his bus comes."

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

Ed folded his arms on the counter, assuming an innocent expression. "Don't you have other plans for the day?"

"Yeah, sure, but I'm not meeting Grissom until later." She got out a mug.

"Did you tell him that?"

When she turned to look at him, Ed pointed at the kitchen window, which faced out onto the small scrap of front lawn that was all the townhouse boasted. Sara went to look out.

A familiar figure sat on the curb across the street, bare elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded in front of his mouth. Sara could see that he was wearing a dark shirt, and what was probably a LVPD ball cap. A small paper bag sat next to him, along with a disposable coffee cup.

Sara felt her jaw loosen with a mixture of surprise and exasperation, though underneath it was a warmth she didn't care to examine at the moment. _"Grissom..."_

Ed was snickering, and Sara restrained the urge to go over and whap him. "Looks like he's really got it bad, sis."

"Are you forty-two or fourteen?" she snarled, and stalked back for her coffee. She felt like a teenager again, caught in embarrassed pleasure and unsure what to do.

Ed chuckled again and stood up. "Have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." He ducked her half-hearted swing and left the kitchen, and she heard him telling the kids that they had to move so they wouldn't miss their reservations at McDonald's. Kimmy's exasperated "DAD-eee" drifted back up the stairwell, and then they were gone.

Sara made herself finish her coffee, drinking it slowly as she leaned against the counter and stared at her shoes. There was a scuff on the right toe, and she concentrated on that, trying not to think about the man waiting patiently outside.

Not that she was very successful.

Finally, exercising the grim patience that stood her in such good stead in her work, she rinsed out her cup, set it in the dishwasher, and grabbed her keys.

He was still sitting on the curb, apparently impervious to the growing sticky heat. Sara stuck her hands in her pockets and walked across the broad, empty street, watching him watch her approach. Somehow his apparent calm soothed her a little, and she came to a halt in front of him. "You could have called, you know."

He looked up at her, eyes shadowed by the cap's brim. "I didn't want to wake anybody up."

She shifted her weight. "Did you get _any_ sleep?"

Grissom chuckled, and picked up the cup and bag, pushing to his feet. "Several hours, in fact." He held out the bag to her. "For you."

Sara took it cautiously, not sure what to expect--an orchid, print powder, what?--but found two muffins inside. She looked back up at him. "I do eat breakfast."

He shrugged, and a tinge of red crept over his ears, a sight that for some reason charmed her. "You didn't used to."

It dawned on her that she was being ungracious. "They look yummy, though, thanks." She folded the bag's top back down. "Um. Do you want to come in?"

Grissom tilted his head in the old familiar manner, and for some reason it made her throat swell a little. "Do you want me to?"

It was clear that he was making sure to give her the choice, signaling that he would abide by her wishes. But Sara squashed her incipient surge of tenderness. "Wouldn't have offered otherwise."

He blinked, and she gave him half a grin and jerked her head at the townhouse.

It was weird, having him in the family space, but in a good way. Sara knew Grissom was observing every detail as they climbed the stairs to the main floor, and it made her look at the place with new eyes. Gracie, the housekeeper, kept it pretty clean--Sara had found that her own obsessive tendencies towards scrubbing had slacked off when there were always stories to read or homework to help with--but the place still looked comfortably lived-in, with shelves crammed with books and photos, and the occasional toy scattered around. The furniture was a little shabby, the carpet a little worn, but it was home.

Sara led Grissom into the big kitchen, waving him to a stool. He took off his cap and set it on the island, running a hand through his hair, and she fought the urge to go over and smooth down the bit he'd missed in the back; that was an old impulse, and easily controlled. "Want some coffee?"

"No thanks." He wiggled his empty cup at her and set that down too, and Sara absently reached for plates, setting one muffin on each and sliding one towards him. He looked down at it. "Sara, they were for you."

She picked hers up and started peeling off the paper, pushing back a smirk. "So? I can share if I want."

Grissom snorted at that, but began pulling the muffin apart.

Sara had eaten three bites--it was a very good muffin--before deciding to break the silence. "How did you get here, anyway?"

Grissom pulled a paper napkin from the holder on the island. "I took the subway, and then I walked."

Sara swallowed her mouthful. "From the station? That's almost two miles!"

"So?" he echoed, looking unconcerned. "It was a nice walk."

Sara reached for her own napkin, a little taken aback. She ran more than that when she went jogging, but walking for pleasure wasn't something she'd ever associated with Grissom. _Just one more thing I don't know about him,_ she thought sadly.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked softly, and she looked up again to see him crumbling a bit of muffin in his fingers, watching her.

She turned one palm up. "I don't know--is there anything you'd like to see?" Sooner or later they were going to have to talk, she knew it and knew that he did too, but neither of them was quite ready to begin just then.

Grissom smiled a little. "This is Washington--the choices are dizzying."

"Yeah, they are." But she felt herself smiling back. "However, if you don't have a preference--I know just the thing."

**xxxxxx**

They walked through the tiny atrium and the double doors, and Sara couldn't help grinning as she watched Grissom's face light. He stared up into the humid, glass-ceilinged space, a rare wide smile spreading, and she congratulated herself silently as he slowly peeled off his ball cap and stuck it in his back pocket.

The greenhouse was filled with all kinds of nectar-bearing plants, and everywhere--in the air, on the blossoms, occasionally on the visitors--were butterflies. The botanical gardens' exhibit had caught her eye when she had surfed for possible activities earlier in the week, and she was glad she'd put it on her list. Grissom looked positively blissful.

They wandered slowly around the greenhouse, breathing the moist air, and Grissom stopped every couple of feet to admire a new set of wings and to tell her about that particular specimen. Sara listened, amused to see him so delighted; it had taken her a few minutes to get over the creeps when some of the butterflies decided to try her out as a landing site, but eventually she accepted the idea, letting them pause on her arm or shoulder and gently waving them away from her face.

She wished for a camera when Grissom bent over to look more closely at something in velvety black poised on a tall stalk of blossoms; she wished for one even more when another butterfly in orange chose Grissom's rear end as a spot to rest and alighted there so delicately that he didn't notice, still absorbed in the one in front of his nose.

But her incipient giggles choked off as she realized she was glad, after all, that she hadn't brought a camera. _If this doesn't work…I'd never be able to look at the photo. It would hurt too much. _

Then he straightened, and both butterflies took off. His brows drew together as he looked over at her. "Is something wrong?"

Sara shook her head. "Nope. Hey, what's that one?"

Grissom shot her one more look, but let it go, and they continued on through the wing-filled, airy room. The day was grey but not rainy, so the light that filled the greenhouse was pearly rather than bright, and the flowers seemed to glow.

It took Grissom a long time to get his fill of the insects; fortunately for his abstraction, there was only one other group of visitors, a handful of women exclaiming over the insects and apparently trading inside jokes, to judge by the laughter. They paused to stare admiringly at Grissom when they passed him, but he was oblivious, much to Sara's amusement.

She was a little surprised by the fact that she didn't get bored. But between his happy monologues, the mingled scents, and all the flowers and butterflies to look at…and Grissom to watch…she wasn't. Her hungry heart, ignoring her cautions, took every opportunity to observe Grissom as he moved from plant to plant and bug to bug, noting that the humidity was making his hair even curlier than her own, that the lines around his eyes were more present than they had been three years ago, how the creases bracketing his mouth deepened when he smiled…

They ended up wandering deeper into the outdoor gardens afterwards, enjoying morning. The flowerbeds were bright with summer and the vista was beautiful; gentle swells of grass, small ornamental trees, a meandering human-made lakelet, and bigger wild trees ringing the park at a distance.

They walked without speaking or hurrying, along wide stone-paved paths, passing through the fragrance garden and ending up on the Japanese gazebo that perched over the lakelet's still waters. There were few other people about, and all of them were at a distance, tending plants or pushing strollers. For a while they stood side by side, Sara with her hands in her pockets and Grissom leaning his arms on the rail, watching a couple of wood ducks floating out on the water and spotting the occasional orange gleam of a lurking koi.

"So why did you ask Sofia out?" Sara asked at last, bringing the most painful issue out into the open in one flat-voiced sentence.

Grissom's mouth quirked, a little sad. "I wanted to ask her to stay. I knew if she left, the shift was going to be very short, and I hated to see Ecklie drive anyone off." His gaze turned from the far shore to meet hers. "That's all it was, Sara."

She nodded, feeling both a pang of guilt and the relief of a three-year-old ache. "I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

He shrugged. "I shouldn't have asked her in the lab or on the clock," he pointed out. "And I should have explained it to you."

Taken aback, she protested. "You didn't owe me--"

But he cut her off. "Yes, I did." His eyes were dark and serious, and he turned to face her, still leaning on the rail. "You know I did."

She squinted a little, her anger suddenly surfacing. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was an idiot." Grissom looked back over the water, a little shame showing. "I didn't even think about what it looked like."

Sara let out a slow breath, calming slightly at the sight of the tension along his jaw, the way his fingers tightened on the wood. Grissom's expression was bleak.

"I let you walk away," he added, almost in a whisper. "Without even trying. That's what I can't forgive myself for, Sara."

She felt her mouth twitch. "I'm having kind of a hard time forgiving you for it myself."

His lips pursed, and he tilted his head in wry acknowledgement, though he was still looking away. "So…where does that leave us?"

Grissom's voice was still soft, and strained. Through her anger, Sara realized that this was a turning point. _I could tell him to leave right now, say that this isn't going to work, and he would go. _For a moment was terribly tempted to do just that--to put an end to the uncertainty and the risk.

She thought about it, about sending him away in clear-headed sorrow instead of the bewildered mix of fury and hurt that had propelled her from Vegas before.

And chose.

"Look, Grissom…"

His shoulders stiffened, as if for a blow, but she went on. "Neither of us is exactly without blame here. We might not be able to make this work--" She gestured between them, fighting back a surge of elation at the surprise that he hid so quickly. "--But I'll never stop wondering, if we don't at least try."

Grissom straightened, and Sara got the distinct feeling that if things had been just slightly different he would have backed her into the railing and kissed her. As it was, his eyes burned.

"We've got three days," she continued. "Let's see if we can at least still stand each other."

He swallowed, and nodded.

They spent the rest of the morning wandering around the lush park, taking it slowly in the muggy heat. Without verbalizing it, they stayed away from touchy topics, discussing only the vegetation around them and their friends in Las Vegas. Grissom told Sara about Catherine's settling into the role of dayshift supervisor, and Sara revealed to him with a grin that Warrick had gotten quietly engaged six weeks before and somehow managed to keep it out of the lab's gossip mill--probably by threatening Nick with death should he let the secret slip.

"Won't he kill you for telling me?" Grissom joked as they headed back to her car, and Sara snickered.

"I'm two-and-a-half thousand miles away, and I'm a federal agent. Besides, he won't know you know unless you tell him."

Her mock-vicious look made him smile. "Oh, by the way, I meant to ask," he said. "You mentioned earlier that Joseph and Kimmy have school--isn't it a bit early for that?"

Sara shook her head. "Private school. It lets out two weeks earlier in the spring and starts earlier in the fall."

Lunch was sandwiches from a small deli; Grissom insisted on paying for them, and Sara decided that it wasn't worth arguing over. They ate at a small table amidst the last of the lunch crowd, and Sara felt surprised at how comfortable it was. The first hurdle was past, and now they were doing what they hadn't done since San Francisco so long ago--simply enjoying one another's company, without work.

"So what do you want to do this afternoon?" Sara asked as she finished her sandwich. Grissom had already indicated that he wanted to follow her lead, but he was the visitor, at least for the moment.

He polished off a potato chip. "Spend time with you."

Sara opened her mouth, and then closed it, still unused to this blunt honesty from a man more given to oblique statements. Picking up the dill that had come with her sandwich, she held it between her hands, one forefinger at each end. "Remember the time you lit one of these up?"

He grinned, eyes crinkling, and it occurred to her that she had seen him smile more that day than she had in the last three months of working with him. _Wow. Is it me, or just being away from work? _

"How could I forget? It helped solve that case."

"Did you really cook hot dogs in college that way?" She let the pickle slip into her palm and took a bite from the end.

Grissom chuckled. "No microwaves back in the Dark Ages."

Sara snorted at him. "There were such things as hot plates. Even if you did have to rub two sticks together to start them."

"Those weren't as much fun." And she could picture him, younger and more slender, hair a mass of brown curls, setting up leads on a cluttered desk for a late-night snack and enjoying the sheer complexity of the whole thing.

It was weird to remember a moment later that she herself would not yet have entered kindergarten at the time.

_But they do say that women mature faster than men._

Sara kept the grin to herself and took another bite of pickle, swallowing before she spoke again. "Ed and the kids want you to come over for dinner Sunday. You don't have to accept."

She wanted him to--wanted to see how he would deal with her brother and the children--but she also wanted it to be his decision. Sara knew he wasn't comfortable in social situations, and she didn't want the evening to be awkward.

But Grissom surprised her again, folding his hands and resting them on the table. "I would love to have dinner with your family, Sara."

She shook her head, and he raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Sara set down her pickle, wiping her hands on her napkin. "I don't know what to make of you when you're being all communicative and stuff."

"Neither do I, really," he said wryly, eyes meeting hers in a direct look that she found difficult to sustain. "But panic gives one a certain courage, apparently."

"Panic?" She didn't like the sound of that.

He sighed. "Until two weeks ago, I thought I...well, not that I would never see you again, exactly, but..."

Sara nodded, knowing what he meant, and he went on. "This is my last chance, Sara, you told me yourself. If I don't change, you're out of my life for good. I...don't want that to happen."

His voice was strained again, and she remembered that night, clinging to him as they both trembled, confession of her most secret and exasperating fantasy still hanging on the air. Admitting that, despite everything, she still cared. Was still vulnerable to him.

She'd given him an ultimatum when she'd gotten herself under control. _"If you want this, Grissom, prove it. Do something. I can't wait around on the end of your string."_

Somehow that had become this odd agreement, and had brought him here. Now Sara looked at him, and his pain made her throat hurt; she wanted to reach across the table and grab his hand, reassure him.

_Nope. He has to come through first._ But-- "Grissom, I don't want you coming to dinner just to please me."

It had to be a two-way street. He had to do things because he wanted to do them, as well as because she wanted them.

His face softened. "I do want to come, Sara. They're your family, and I want to get to know them."

"Yeah, I have days like that too," she sighed, only half-joking, and he smiled. "Okay. But, Grissom--"

She bit her lip, trying to organize her words, and Grissom watched her patiently. "I don't want you to change," she said finally. "I mean, yes, your behavior, but I don't want you to change _you._"

She frowned. "Does that make any sense?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. It makes a lot of sense."

"Okay, good." She gave him a bright smile. "Then let's blow this popsicle stand. It's too late to go to a museum, but I know a great used bookstore around here."

"Sounds good." Grissom picked up her tray before she could, and threw out their trash. The hand he placed at the small of her back as they left was, she thought, probably more absent habit than anything else. But it felt right.

**xxxxxx**

She drove him back to the suite in the gathering darkness while they discussed their finds in the bookstore; Sara had a grocery bag full of tomes behind her seat, but Grissom had a whole boxful. "I need them," he defended. "My library's still in Las Vegas."

Sara refused to read anything into the "still," and merely laughed a little. "Hey, I'm not arguing. You know what they say--books breed like rabbits--"

"--Bookcases breed like elephants," Grissom finished smugly. "I hadn't seen a copy of that German insect guide before."

"You'll have to bring it along on Sunday," Sara commented. "Joseph is in the bugs-are-cool stage."

"I'll do that." Out of the corner of her eye, Sara saw Grissom give her a look. "You never know, he might not leave it."

"Well, if he decides he wants an ant farm for Christmas, I'll know who to call to set it up," she shot back, appalled a second later at her own words. _What are you saying? You have no idea if he's going to be around by then. _

"I recommend Black Argentineans." Grissom sounded...satisfied. But before she could analyze that, he went on. "I take it you help with their homework?"

"Most nights I'm home, yeah. I'm better at math than Ed, that's for sure." She couldn't hold back the snicker. "Tonight, though, Kimmy has Scouts, and then we're all going out to dinner."

"Ah." Grissom shifted in his seat. "That reminds me. Sara, may I--"

All the humor was gone from his voice, and Sara glanced over for an instant. "What?"

He exhaled. "I want to take you out to dinner, Sara. Properly."

"You mean like on a date." Her voice was flat with surprise.

"I mean...like how I should have from the beginning. Like you're important to me, because you are."

Her head spun a little, irritation mixed with pleasure. "Can you be more specific?"

"Okay, yes, like a date." Another glance told her he was rubbing his beard nervously. "I don't want you to think I'm pushing, but this is important to me."

She couldn't quite get a handle on the idea. "Don't you think this is a little, well, early?" She wasn't even sure they could still really be friends.

"I suppose it is." His sigh sounded defeated. "I just...I wanted to do it _right_ for once."

And she heard the unspoken part of the sentence clearly. _In case I never get another opportunity._

It was dangerous. A date, an actual date with Grissom would be sure to knock her careful balance awry. But he wanted it so much--

_I'm in trouble if he figures out how much power he really has over me._

"Well, tomorrow night's the only night we have free, if you're coming to dinner on Sunday."

She could almost taste his elation, but his voice was quiet. "Thank you, Sara."

"Don't thank me yet." She smirked a little and signaled for a turn. "I never was very good at dating."

"We can be bad together then." And as she giggled at the unexpected double entendre, she saw the flash of his teeth in her peripheral vision, and a warm touch brushed her hand on the gearshift, too swift to catch.

**xxxxxx**

Grissom found himself a restaurant within walking distance of his suite, and took a couple of his purchases along to keep him occupied while he ate. It was a long-familiar habit, sharing a table with a book rather than another person; he'd thought briefly about buying groceries instead, but had decided not to until he knew if he was going to be staying beyond Monday morning. For the same reason, he had not yet rented a car.

It felt lonely, eating by himself in the busy place, especially after spending all day with Sara. But that was familiar; he had often thought of himself as lonely, but had not known how deep it could go until she had left Las Vegas behind.

He supposed it was a good thing for them to spend this evening apart, time to regroup and assimilate, but he didn't like it. He felt greedy, almost desperate, wanting to hoard every second he could with her--not only as a bulwark against a possible future alone, but to feed his heart, so hungry after three years of silence. It was why he'd turned up on her doorstep so early--he'd woken eager, unable to get back to sleep, wanting just to see her face again and prove to himself that the night before hadn't been a dream.

It had almost felt like one, watching her emerge from the townhouse and cross the street to him through the growing light, face expressionless. Though if it had been his dream, Grissom acknowledged to himself wryly, she would have pulled him to his feet without a word and kissed him, rather than pointing out tartly that he could have called.

_Too bad. _

But this was real, and better. If she let him stay, if she let him try, he could do all the things he should have done from the first time he had thought _what if._ Woo her. Court her. Let her know that she was the most important thing in his life.

Tomorrow night was going to be a gamble, because he really was bad at dating, but it was a necessary thing. He didn't just want Sara's friendship, though he did want that badly; he wanted _her._ And he wanted her to know it.

Grissom smiled as he went back over the day in his mind--they'd gotten through a couple of the harder questions, and she hadn't sent him packing. And the fact that she'd chosen to take him to a butterfly exhibit...that gave him more hope. She'd chosen it because she knew he would love it, chosen something that probably bored her a little. It was that as much as her words that let him believe he still stood a chance.

It wasn't until he was walking back to his rooms that he realized that he didn't feel futile any more.

**See Chapter 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. The name I chose for the housekeeper, Gracie, is of course a joke based on "Will and Grace", but if I'd known I was going to write a sequel I would have chosen something else, because the character is much more like Sloan from "Prey". If any Prey fans are reading this (unlikely) you'll get the joke of her last name. **

I want to say thank you for all the wonderful reviews. This story means a lot to me, and I'm so glad that people are enjoying it!

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

On Saturday, as they had arranged, Grissom met Sara again at her townhouse, though a little later than the day before. Kimmy was out on the small front lawn when he arrived, playing jacks with another girl about the same age. Grissom waved as he approached, carefully stepping off the sidewalk to detour around their game. "Hello, ladies."

The other girl giggled, but Kimmy regarded him solemnly. "Hi, Doctor G." The name had been chosen two weeks prior, when the pronunciation of "Grissom" had proven to be beyond Joseph's still-developing ability. "You can go in if you want."

"Thank you," he said gravely, and opened the front door. Behind him he heard the unknown child.

"Is that your Aunt Sara's boyfriend?"

Intrigued, Grissom pulled the door almost shut behind him, curious to hear what Kimmy would say.

"'M not sure," Kimmy answered deliberately. "She says he's not, but Daddy says he is." He heard the small thwack of the ball bouncing. "I think they're kinda confused."

_Sounds about right._ Amused, Grissom closed the door completely and headed up the stairs from the utility room, towards the sound of a vacuum cleaner.

Expecting Ed or Sara to be wielding the tool, he was a little surprised to see a strange woman with porcelain skin and a ponytail of curly red hair with the vacuum wand in her hand. She looked up as he emerged from the stairwell, eyes widening, and then recognition dawned on her face and she shut off the machine.

"You must be Dr. Grissom. Sara's upstairs, I'll call her." She strode over to an intercom box set in the living room wall, and depressed a key. "Sara, your friend's here."

She was shorter than Sara, and curvy in jeans and a sweatshirt; she didn't sound like a housekeeper, but Grissom deduced that that was her title nonetheless. He stuck out a hand. "Gil Grissom."

The woman took it and smiled, and the expression changed her face from merely pleasant to warm-eyed beauty. "Grace Daniels. A pleasure to meet you--Joey hasn't stopped talking about you for two weeks."

He didn't quite know what to say to that. "Where is he?"

"Over at a friend's. He's a busy guy these days." Her expression invited Grissom to share a joke, and he smiled without quite figuring out what the joke actually was. "Oh, here she comes."

Feet sounded on the stairs to the upper floors, which were across the room from the ones Grissom had just mounted, and Sara bounded into view, swinging a purse onto her shoulder. "Sorry I'm late," she said, a little breathlessly.

"No, I'm early," Grissom countered. He looked at her where she had halted, three stairs up, and took her in with helpless admiration. Her hair was curly and loose again, and she wore slacks instead of jeans; her t-shirt bore a portrait that took him a moment to recognize as that of Niels Bohr. He realized that he was the victim of conflicting desires; he wanted to take her hand and kiss it, he wanted to ask her where she got the shirt, he wanted to walk up the intervening steps and slide his hands _under _the shirt and kiss _her_...

Sara broke his reverie by pulling her hair from under the strap of the purse and finishing the stairs. "Have you eaten?"

Grissom put his hands in his pockets, to keep them under control. "Yes. Have you?"

His tease made her wrinkle her nose at him; Grace laughed. "He's got your number, Sara."

That made his brows go up, even as Sara shot the other woman a dirty look. "I thought you said you ate breakfast these days."

"Most days," Grace said cheerfully, apparently completely unaffected by Sara's glare. "We've gotten that far."

Grissom let one brow arch at Sara's caught-out look. "Busted."

Sara growled a little and caught Grissom's elbow. "Let's get out of here before this gets any more embarrassing, why don't we?"

Grissom might have teased her more, but he was too enchanted by the fact that she was actually touching him, even if it was only to tow him towards the exit. Grace was chuckling behind them, and as they descended Grissom heard the vacuum start up again.

Sara pulled open the door to the garage, and they squeezed past the minivan to her Mercedes, only to find that it was parked too close to the van for the passenger door to open properly. Sara sighed.

"Ed must have gotten out through the sliding door again. I'll back it out."

Grissom stepped back out of the way as Sara hit the garage-door switch, then went outside to the lawn as she got into the car. Kimmy and her friend were still playing on the sidewalk, but they stopped their game to watch as Sara carefully reversed into view.

"Where are you going?" Kimmy asked, still solemn, and Grissom got the feeling that she was weighing him.

"Into Washington," he said truthfully; they hadn't fixed on a particular museum yet.

"Can we go?"

Grissom blinked. "You'll have to ask Sara that." He hoped she would say no. Yes, he wanted to get to know her family--but not by touring a museum with two ten-year-olds. Not today.

The car halted in the driveway, and with slow precision the roof folded up and away, revealing Sara. "It's still kind of cool," she pointed out. "And there might actually be a breeze."

Grissom opened the passenger door and slid into the seat as Kimmy and her friend rose to come stand next to the car. "Can we come too, Aunt Sara?" Kimmy asked, a little wistful.

Sara grinned at them. "No room in this thing for four, kiddo. Besides, we're going to be doing boring grownup stuff."

"Yeah, right," Kimmy said with exaggerated doubt, but the two girls turned and went back to their game. Sara waited until they reached the sidewalk before releasing the brake.

"I'll probably have to put the top back up when we get downtown, because of the traffic," Sara explained, sounding the slightest bit nervous. "But I like to have it down any chance I get."

"It's a lovely day," Grissom agreed obliquely. It wasn't his fantasy, but it was still very pleasant to sit next to Sara and watch the breeze play with her hair as she drove. He put on his sunglasses so he could watch her a little more covertly; Sara was already wearing hers.

"No matter where we go, it's going to be a madhouse," Sara warned as they stopped for a red light. "Any preferences?"

"The Air and Space Museum," Grissom said firmly, knowing that she loved it. Sara pulled down her glasses to peer at him for a moment.

"Not the Natural History Museum? Bugs, you know."

He didn't rise to the bait. "Air and Space. The light's green."

Sara had what Grissom had heard Warrick refer to as "park fu," and was able to find a parking space in the crowded city with near-supernatural skill. They strolled towards the huge complex of buildings that made up the Smithsonian Institution, just one more couple among swarms of families, tourists, and groups. At least, they looked like a couple, Grissom hoped, then scoffed at himself. _If wishing made it so..._

They spent several hours wandering among the exhibits, and Grissom found again that their difficulties seemed to be in abeyance for a while as they took in the rockets and capsules and satellites, and argued gently about the Cold War and the use of animals in space exploration.

At one point they circled slowly around the Moon lander display, admiring the shiny, fat little craft, and Sara eventually handed Grissom her camera. "Here--I've always wanted a shot of this."

She chose her spot, and Grissom backed slowly up, trying to frame her perfectly through the camera's viewfinder. It took a minute or so, but eventually he snatched a second between passing tourists and took the picture, Sara smiling and behind her the valiant lander, built for a terrain it would never reach.

He wondered if she would let him have a copy.

Then he walked back to her, and she took the camera. "Your turn!"

"Sara--" But she was already moving away, ignoring his protest. Grissom stood stiffly, abruptly aware of his own appearance, self-conscious and unhappy but unwilling to refuse her.

But she waved at him, and suddenly it didn't matter so much. _So what if I look awful? What difference does it make? She already knows what I look like. _Grissom straightened and let his shoulders relax. Sara held up her hand in an "okay" sign and took the photo.

She was beaming when she came back. "Nice one! All you need is a spacesuit, and you're there, man."

Grissom snorted. "I prefer terra firma, thank you."

The last hour was spent in the gift shop, with Grissom losing track of time in the extensive book section before belatedly thinking that it might be nice to send postcards to his somewhat bewildered colleagues. After all, he'd given them no real explanation as to why he'd suddenly decided to spend his leave of absence on the East Coast. And, he realized, none of them knew that he was seeing Sara.

_I think I'll keep it that way. At least for now. _

Five minutes later, he had a handful of postcards and two books, and no idea of where Sara was. He finally tracked her down on the shop's lower level, where the toys were kept, and found her bent over the jewelry display. "Find something interesting?"

She straightened, and turned to smile at him. "Lots, but I managed to cut it down to four." She gestured, and Grissom moved to examine the small pile on the counter next to her.

The hot-pink fiberoptic flashlight and the Space Shuttle model were obvious, and Grissom assumed that the Einstein-sticking-his-tongue-out t-shirt was for Ed. He touched the small faceted crystal, which had a hole pierced through one end. "Is this for your window?"

Sara shook her head. "It's for Gracie. It always embarrasses her, but if I don't bring her something, the kids get all insulted." She gathered up her choices and they walked towards the register.

"So she's part of the family." Grissom found that he was faintly jealous of a woman he'd only just met.

"Sort of--she does a lot of babysitting and so forth. To tell you the truth, Ed's got a crush on her, and I think she likes him too." She laid her purchases down on the counter and dug into her pocket for her wallet.

"Does that please you?" he asked, curious.

Sara shot him one of those breathtaking grins. "Oh yeah."

As they were coming out of the shop, Sara held up a hand. "I have to hit the ladies' room before we go."

Grissom took her shopping bag from her. "Go ahead, I'll meet you here."

He watched her stride across the museum floor, only to halt at the line that spilled out of the restroom and shoot him an uncertain glance over her shoulder. He waved reassurance, and as she turned away and joined the line, he had another epiphany.

The jewelry counter had a clerk behind it when he returned to the basement, and Grissom went straight over. "Excuse me."

The young man looked up politely; his shoulders were so wide that he looked as though he would have trouble going through doors. "Can I help you?"

"Did you help the young woman who was here a few minutes ago? Tall, brunette?"

Dark eyes narrowed with male appreciation, and the man gave Grissom a grin almost as wide as his shoulders. "I sure did."

"Good." Grissom felt a rare surge of excitement, a sense that he was doing the right thing. "Did she buy anything?"

"No sir." The clerk tapped the glass. "She was looking at these, though."

Grissom bent for a better look. The display was mostly of necklaces and earrings, ranging from elegant to the mild silliness of tiny airplanes. "Anything specific?"

The clerk unlocked the cabinet and reached in, withdrawing the padded tray that held a range of necklaces. "She tried this one on." He pointed.

It was an intricate piece, a sunburst of silver set with amber in green, gold, and red, and Grissom could instantly picture Sara wearing it. It wasn't terribly expensive.

"She said something about it exceeding her budget for the week," the clerk offered, clearly knowing his business.

Grissom nodded, turning his attention to the other displays. One caught his eye. "Let me see that one," he said, pointing in turn.

The clerk laid the bracelet out on the counter. It was heavy; polished chunks of golden amber sat in silver clasps, and the image behind Grissom's eyes of it gracing Sara's slender wrist was even more vivid than his picture of the necklace. The bracelet was definitely expensive, but money wasn't a concern.

"Both, please," he said with confidence, and the clerk smiled again and wrapped them carefully in boxes emblazoned with the institution's own sunburst logo.

He was back in his original position, waiting for Sara to emerge from the restroom, before remembering that she still might send him packing before the weekend was over. The thought made his throat tighten. _You could always return them if that happens,_ he told himself, but he had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't.

It was a bleak image. Twenty years from now, opening a drawer and digging through socks, only to uncover the long flat box; opening it to find the bracelet, its silver tarnished but the amber still bright, a reminder of what he'd let slip away…

"Something the matter?" Her voice was casual, but Grissom could see the wariness in Sara's eyes as she joined him.

"Nope," he said easily, and as her face relaxed, he felt hope returning. The weight of the bag in his hand was like a promise. "Ready to go?"

**xxxxx**

Kids could be a pain in the ass, Sara reflected, but they also had many advantages, though one that never seemed to be mentioned was their value as distractions. It was much harder to obsess over the coming evening, or what she was wearing, or the fact that she _shouldn't _be obsessing, with Kimmy bouncing on Sara's bed and asking excited questions.

It was only natural, Sara supposed, and decided to be grateful that she'd at least had time to shower in peace before her niece invaded. She'd dropped Grissom off at a Metrorail station--his insistence, rather than driving him back to his suite--and gone home to get ready for the date he had asked for. "Nothing too formal," he'd said, which of course left her way too wide a range of options.

She'd finally settled on one of the skirts she sometimes wore to work, dark and straight and reaching just below her knee, but topped it with a camisole and a thin maroon sweater that buttoned up the front. After some deliberation, and expert advice from the short person on her bed, she didn't pin up her hair, instead clipping it back with a couple of barrettes. Now she was trying to apply a little makeup…trying being the operative word.

"Pleeeeese, Aunt Sara?"

Sara leaned forward to apply eyeshadow, her sigh clouding on the mirror for a second. "Nope."

"Why NOT?"

"Because your dad said no makeup before you're fourteen at the very least." Actually, Ed had threatened her with tortures unnamable if she let Kimmy try out anything beyond a spritz of perfume, but Sara wasn't worried. Between her self-defense training and Ed's deep-set view of her as his little sister, she knew she could wrestle him to the ground any time she felt it was necessary.

"I think you should wear the pink one." Kimmy had come over to Sara's cluttered dresser and was holding up a tube. Sara winced.

"It doesn't go with my outfit, kiddo." In fact, the color didn't really suit her; it had been a bad choice. She selected a darker shade instead, almost the color of her sweater, then straightened to check the effect.

Beside her, Kimmy sighed happily. "You're beautiful, Aunt Sara."

Sara laughed, and picked up her perfume. "It's all in the accessories." Kimmy, who knew when she was being teased even if she didn't get the joke, made a face at her aunt.

Sara applied the perfume to her wrists and throat, wondering briefly if it was a good idea. _But Grissom asked for a date--he's going to get one. _Some innate sense of fairness pushed her to uphold her end of the bargain. "Want some of this?"

Kimmy held out an eager arm, dragging her sleeve up, and Sara sprayed a hint of the spicy scent onto her niece's wrist. The odor would be different on Kimmy, Sara knew; without the adult pheromones, it would remain sweet and light on the little girl's skin until her bath washed it away. On Sara, it deepened and became richer, and she knew she would catch whiffs of it all evening.

One last look in the mirror. Her reflection's eyes were dark and wide, with both apprehension and excitement; her hair curled down her back a ways but the clips pulled it back enough to outline her cheeks and throat. She tried on a smile; a little too bright and artificial.

"It'll have to do," Sara muttered. Despite her niece's words, she didn't consider herself beautiful, but she knew she was attractive, and that her taste in clothes suited her. Feeling a surge of confidence, she winked at herself and grabbed her purse. "C'mon, kiddo, let's go downstairs. I'm not going to wait up here for him like Rapunzel."

This made Kimmy burst out laughing, and they went down the stairs in a dramatic chorus of "Let down your haaaiiirrr!"

Unfortunately for Sara's composure, Grissom was waiting at the bottom of the second flight, talking with Ed. Sara halted halfway down, feeling the words dry up in her throat as both men turned towards them, but where Ed held out his arms for Kimmy to jump into, Grissom only looked.

She braced herself for amusement or embarrassment, but instead it seemed as though he hadn't even heard their silly song; his eyes were burning bright, admiring her, almost devouring her. A tremor ran through her. _Okay, this is definitely not a good idea._

But it was too late to back out. Sara got a grip on herself and finished her descent, Grissom's gaze never leaving her; Ed was busy sniffing Kimmy's proffered wrist and pretending to check for eyeshadow.

Grissom looked...well, Sara couldn't remember him looking quite so natty, even the last time she'd seen him dressed for court. A tie didn't really suit him, but the dark gray button-down shirt open at the throat definitely did, and the sport jacket he was wearing made him look like a professor at a fantasy university. "Ready to go?" he asked softly.

"Yep," Sara answered briskly, unwilling to give Ed an opening to tease. Grissom gestured towards the stairs and followed her down them, Kimmy's goodbyes echoing behind, followed by "Daddy, when can I go on a date?"

Sara couldn't help grinning as she retrieved her raincoat from the closet, and Grissom chuckled outright at the answer of "We'll discuss it when you're thirty," but then he startled her by taking the coat from her and holding it out.

She wasn't sure which surprised her more--that he thought of doing it, or that he knew how. Sara let him help her into the coat, and was even more surprised when gentle hands lifted her hair free of the collar. They made her shiver pleasurably, and to cover it she whirled for the door. "Let's go before Kimmy decides to come down and try to stow away."

It wasn't until they were driving away from the house that Grissom spoke from the passenger seat. "You look stunning, Sara."

This from a man who, besides an oblique comment about beauty, had complimented her appearance only once. Sara felt her face heating, and was glad for the darkness. "...Thanks. So do you, by the way."

He made a small noise, as though in protest, but said nothing, and they settled into semi-uncomfortable silence. It wasn't until they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant Grissom had chosen that Sara broke it.

"I told you I was bad at this," she grumbled, releasing her seatbelt, and he snickered, sounding relieved.

"We're right on target, then." He climbed out of the car and turned to face her over its roof, his face a little pink. "Of course, that means the next thing that happens is that I bore you talking about insects, and then get called away to work."

Sara felt a smirk coming on, and closed her car door. "You're out of luck, Griss, because the bugs don't bore me and work's a lonnnng way away."

He was definitely amused, judging by the way the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Then things can only improve."

Grissom held the restaurant's door for her as they entered; it was a rather upscale Thai place, trendy and elegant both. Most of the tables were occupied, but Grissom had made reservations, so they were seated almost immediately. Sara looked around with interest; the décor was vaguely Asian and fairly streamlined, giving the restaurant an open and airy feel. "I've never been here before."

"It's relatively new, but it gets good reviews," Grissom said, opening his menu, and Sara thought how like him it was to research the matter. There was a good selection of vegetarian choices, and she made hers quickly, then used the cover of the menu to observe Grissom. He looked much more relaxed than he had when he'd arrived, and less weary, as though he had found a new source of energy.

And, she had to admit to herself, he was just as handsome as ever. It wasn't just his features; it was the kindness hinted at in the lines of his face, the intelligence behind the warm eyes.

_Great. I knew this would be a problem. _In all the time since she'd first considered Grissom as more than a friend, Sara had been aware on some level that entering into a relationship with him, if ever they did, would most likely be very intense. Grissom said he was bad at dating, and with people, but Sara knew better. When he turned his formidable concentration on something outside work…   
If he truly meant this, if he was serious, she was going to have a great deal of trouble keeping him at arms' length until she was sure. Not that she thought Grissom would try to force her to do anything she didn't want to do; she wouldn't be anywhere near him if that were the case, but then, he wouldn't be the man she'd known all these years if he were. Her trust issues with him had never involved her physical safety.

No, the problem was going to be keeping _herself_ under control. Not touching him, not…well, kissing him...

_But I am not going to screw this up. If I decide to do this--_ If she did, she knew as well as he that it really was their last chance. Waste it, and there would be no more opportunities. They would both be too burned.

It was worth taking time over, if she chose. And in the meantime, there was dinner with a gorgeous, brilliant man who seemed to want to make her happy.

Sara decided it was time to enjoy herself.

They placed their orders, and Grissom took a sip of his water. "I've been meaning to ask…what exactly do you do for the FBI?"

Sara sat back a little, amused. "Took you long enough. A little bit of this, a little bit of that; mainly forensics, but more lab work. Lots of research."

"Materials analysis?" Grissom had the head-cocked attitude that meant he was listening carefully.

"For the most part. I also seem to have a talent for profiling, but since I don't have a psych degree it's mostly informal workups." She played idly with the edge of her napkin. "Every so often they send me out for collection, in more sensitive cases."

"Do you miss it?" Grissom set down his glass. "Being in the field, I mean."

"Sometimes." Sara narrowed her eyes a little, trying to put things into words. "Sometimes it's frustrating, working with so little evidence and wondering if the guys in the field overlooked something, but they're pretty good. I _don't _miss the decomps." They shared a chuckle at that.

She thought a moment longer. "I guess what I miss the most is the relationships. It's a big lab, and people come and go all the time; you get to know some of the techs, but you don't develop partnerships the way you do in a smaller lab."

Grissom nodded. "Advantages and disadvantages."

"Yeah." Sara exhaled, not surprised that he understood. "I work with lots more people, I learn more…but I don't have any real buddies. It's a little lonely sometimes."

A small lump formed in her throat at the thought of the friends she'd left behind in Vegas; normally she didn't let herself remember how much she missed them all despite their e-mails and phone calls.

Grissom was looking a little distressed. "Sara…"

She shrugged off the melancholy. "It's just as well. The first six months or so I didn't have the energy, and the kids still take up a lot of time."

"It was hard for Ed?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah." The one short word didn't encompass her brother's devastation, Sara thought. Jenny's sudden death had left Ed reeling with shock and grief, and Sara had seen the other side of love at first hand, the price eventually paid for even the best and deepest of relationships. "He wasn't really in shape to deal with them for a while there. If it hadn't been for Gracie--" She let her lips curve up. "It's not like I knew how to handle kids or anything."

It had been just as well, in a way, that she hadn't really known Jenny. That had spared Sara the sorrow of losing her, had left her clear-headed to try to comfort two miserable children and support a brother she barely knew any more. Calm Gracie, already a fixture three days a week, had been her salvation, mothering the kids the way Sara hadn't known how to and leaving Sara time to take care of Ed.

"You seem to do fine, from what little I've seen," Grissom pointed out, and Sara's smile widened.

"Well, yeah, _now _I do." She snorted at a few particular memories. "So, tell me how the lab does without Ecklie."

He grimaced with distaste. "Much better, thank you. Catherine turned out to be a natural leader."

"Doesn't surprise me." Sara grinned. "Let me guess, she plays politics with the big boys."

"If it gets the lab the equipment it needs, I don't care if she plays saxophone and touch football." His eyes crinkled at her choke of laughter. "She keeps threatening to steal Greg from me, but so far she hasn't found an incentive that he's willing to accept."

"She hasn't found something big enough for him to tempt your wrath, you mean."

Their food arrived before Grissom could reply, ginger duck for him and sautéed eggplant with basil for Sara. The food was as good as the reviews had predicted, and they spent a few minutes in appreciative munching before Sara spoke again. "So tell me about your team."

He did. He described Abdul, who had taken Warrick's place as Grissom's potential second; Betty, whose soft Wisconsin accent made her stand out in the flatter tones of the Midwest, and who had no desire to advance up the management ladder; Gen, who was the eager young rookie, full of ideas that had been tried before and a few that hadn't.

"And I'm sure you know exactly how Greg is doing," he finished a little dryly. Sara's dimples appeared.

"At length, as a matter of fact. I get all the lab gossip, along with opinion, speculation, and the latest on the practical joke war between him and Hodges."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started on those two. It was bad enough when Greg was just a lab tech, but seeing one of my best CSIs hopping frantically down the corridor because somehow Hodges glued the legs of his jumpsuit together and the zipper closed…"

Sara covered her mouth with her napkin and laughed hard, not only at the image but at the twinkle in Grissom's eyes. "I didn't hear about _that_ one," she managed when she caught her breath.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised."

She finished another bite of eggplant before going on, keeping her gaze on her plate. "He keeps bugging me to come visit."

Grissom was silent so long that she finally looked up. His face was calm, but his voice held wistfulness. "You could, you know."

She sighed, twirling her fork in her food. "I…I might."

Awkwardness returned, broken only by the chime of Sara's cellphone. She hesitated.

"Go ahead and take it," Grissom encouraged.

Sighing again, she dug in her purse. "I told Ed not to call unless it was an emergency. Oh--" The display was not home, but work. She shot Grissom an apologetic glance. "I guess I'll have to. Excuse me."

He nodded, and she put her napkin on the table and rose, heading for the front door and not clicking on the phone until she was a few strides away from the table. "Sidle."

Within three minutes, she had completed the call and rejoined Grissom, embarrassed and a little angry. "Grissom, I hate to say this, but--"

"Work, right?" At her affirmative, he nodded and gave her a wry smile. "Looks like my track record is holding after all."

**xxxxx**

The Scotch was exceptional. Grissom shifted on the bar stool and glanced at the TV, which was showing a college football game on mute, and then looked away again. If it had been baseball…but it wasn't.

All around him was the hum of a Saturday night at the popular restaurant, and while there were a few other men sitting alone at the long slab of oak, they were eyeing the single women or had the air of people waiting. Grissom wasn't waiting, or interested in companionship; he'd already turned down one offer of a drink from a petite blonde. He just didn't feel like going back to his suite yet.

What he did feel was contentment, which was relatively unfamiliar. It had been almost karmic, Sara being called away by work, and she had obviously been upset about it. He'd done his best to reassure her that he wasn't hurt; a little disappointed, perhaps, but who knew better than he what it was like to be interrupted in the middle of something important?

Besides, as Sara had left, she had hesitated, then leaned down. The low apology he'd expected, the thanks were welcome; the brief warm brush of her lips against his cheek had been a surprise. The spot still tingled.

If it was to be their last date, Grissom reflected, it was all too short, but in that case a date of any length would be so for him. If it was their first…well, then, on the whole it had been a success.

That, too, surprised him a little. The last few he'd had, and they were all years behind him now, had been stilted at best and abortive at worst. He'd had things in common with those women--an inquisitive mind, a fascination with forensics--but things still hadn't gone well. Grissom wondered now if that was so much because of his lack of social graces, or because he simply hadn't cared enough.

_Possibly both._

This time, he cared.

This time, it was important.

**xxxxx**

Sara climbed slowly out of her car and shut the door with a weary slam. It was almost two-thirty in the morning, and her day had been long, and she knew that at this point there was no way she was going to get up to go to church with Ed and the kids in the morning. Not that she did go much more often than once a month or so, but… _This week is definitely not it._

But instead of opening the door to the utility room, she walked out through the mouth of the garage, into a muggy summer night. The moon was high and tiny and slightly fuzzy, and the air was still; a few lightning bugs were up late, flickering over the lawns. Sara took a deep breath of the fresh air, still a little enchanted to be back in genuine seasons again, and sat down on the front stoop. Her raincoat would protect her skirt from the rough brick.

For a while she just sat, winding down, flexing her sore toes in her shoes. The sandals she'd chosen for her date with Grissom were pretty, but weren't designed for a few hours standing in front of a table bent over evidence.

But eventually she reached into her purse for her cellphone, and pressed the appropriate buttons. The last text message flashed up on the tiny screen again.

_Call me. I'll be up. GG_

She debated. It was very late; but Grissom knew quite well how long analysis could take. And Sara still felt guilty about leaving in the middle of the date she'd promised him.

The annoyance was on her own behalf. _I was having a good time, dammit. With **Grissom. **It's been a long time since I've had that kind of fun. _

Finally, Sara punched some more buttons. His phone rang only once; then his voice was in her ear, warm and low. "Hello, Sara."

She couldn't help smiling into the silvery night. "Caller ID?"

"Of course. How else can I dodge Hodges?"

That made her chuckle, which was echoed on his end. She could also hear the faint tinny sound of a crowd's roar. "What are you watching?"

The roar cut off. "Baseball in Japan. This TV seems to have every cable channel known to mankind."

She had to laugh at that too. "No roach racing?"

"That's not on until four." She heard him shift, the slide of cloth. "Interesting case?"

"Kidnapping. Four-year-old girl." She sighed. "The pressure's always on in those."

"I remember. How's it going?"

Sara rolled her shoulders, working out the tension. "It turned out to be a custody snatch. The father called to taunt the mother, and that was that; he didn't even have the brains to call from a pay phone."

"Nice when they make it easy for you."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, it would have been nicer if he'd called a little sooner."

"Sara…" She could practically feel him hesitating. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too," she said honestly. The reality of the situation dawned on her, and she smirked. "Actually, my getting called in, it might have been a good thing. Saves us the awkward post-date conversation."

"This doesn't count?" Grissom said humorously, and her smirk deepened. "I suppose you're right. Me trying to kiss you, you punching my lights out…"

She snickered. "Yeah, well, that's the risk you run."

"Would you have let me, Sara?" His voice had gone soft and serious, and she switched the phone from one ear to the other nervously.

"No. I--I mean, not yet." She bit her lip. Where had all her cool control gone?

"I understand." He didn't sound disappointed. "I really don't want to push, Sara."

Honesty compelled her, even as she fought against revealing too much. "I would want to, Griss. It just wouldn't be--smart." The memory of his kisses was far too clear right now, the incredulous pleasure she had felt and how his touch had fed her in some way, alleviated some of her hurt if only for a moment.

"I know what you mean," he agreed, and she relaxed somewhat.

_He's been incredibly open with me so far. I have to trust him, at least a little, it's only fair. _

_This won't work if I don't. _

"Thank you for tonight," he added softly, and she smiled again.

"I'm...glad you're here, Grissom."

**See Chapter 4**


	4. Chapter 4

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was definitely a puzzle. Grissom stared into space, trying to work his mind around it, considering different angles and possible paths of research, and finally gave up. _I guess I'll go with tradition. _

His mother had taught him that when one was a guest for dinner, one brought the hostess a gift. Over time, he knew, that custom had changed somewhat, allowing the guest to bring a gift for the household in general--usually foodstuffs or an alcoholic beverage. But he was way out of practice.

_Let's think about this logically. Sara's a vegetarian. Therefore, the meal will be meatless. _Grissom looked at the array of gleaming bottles; Pinot Noirs, Cabernets, Merlots, Zinfandels. _This could mean pasta, or fish. _Or maybe tofu, but he doubted it, it just didn't seem likely when they were having a guest who was omnivorous.

_I hope not, anyway. I have no idea what wine goes with bean curd._

He chose a Sauvignon from California's Shenandoah Vineyards on the grounds that he knew it was good, wistfully passing over the winery's Muscat with its enticing butterfly label. _If it doesn't fit, they can always drink it later. _

Grissom stepped out of the liquor store into strong noon sunlight. He'd stayed up late the night before, hoping Sara would call, and had been rewarded. She was right, too; talking on the phone had been less difficult than face-to-face, and saved them both embarrassment. He'd been joking about kissing her…_mostly, anyway..._but the idea was extremely enticing. Especially now that he knew the taste of her, the soft fit of her mouth against his--

Grissom shook off the thought with some difficulty. Teasing himself like that was not a good idea when it was important for him to exercise patience.

_Next stop, florist. _

He'd done his research, knowing that in contrast to his own sleepless city, some businesses would be closed on Sunday. And again, he found himself staring at a colorful display, unsure what to choose. Roses seemed the most logical choice, and yet they were…uncreative.

Finally he settled on calla lilies that caught his eye repeatedly; they were a deep rose that shaded towards a quiet pink on the edge, and seemed as elegant as Sara herself to him.

As he left the shop, arm full of bouquet, Grissom hoped he wasn't too over the top. But the flowers seemed right, an offering to reinforce the message he was trying to send. _Certainty, remember? _

**xxxxx**

A few hours later he emerged from the Metrorail station near the Sidle house, only to wince at the intense heat and humidity. Not wanting to arrive drenched in sweat, Grissom decided to take a taxi, but as he walked towards the waiting cabs, a horn tooted at him. Sara's convertible was waiting.

He couldn't help smiling. Sara leaned over and opened the door for him as he approached, and he ducked inside with his packages and a tease. "You could have called, you know."

Her dimples appeared again. "There's no cellphone reception when the train's underground."

"Touché." Resisting the urge to return the kiss she'd given him the night before, he handed her the paper-wrapped bouquet, and watched with delight as she pinkened.

"Grissom, you didn't have to bring me anything."

"Just think of it as my starting to catch up." He couldn't believe he'd just said that, and felt himself redden in turn as she looked over, eyes wide. But if her shy smile was any indication, he'd said more-or-less the right thing.

"They're gorgeous," she said softly. "Thank you."

Another awkward moment, but laced with warmth. Sara ducked her head over the flowers, as though getting a closer look, and Grissom busied himself with his seatbelt. Then she handed them back. "Hold them while I drive?"

"Sure." Grissom settled the flowers on his lap, athwart the bag that held the wine bottle and a couple of other things, and Sara started the car.

The drive was short and quiet, neither of them knowing quite what to say, but as they entered the townhouse they walked into the fragrant smell of baking bread, and noise--the woody tones of an amateur on clarinet, and Joey shouting. As they started up the stairs, the music squeaked to a stop, and Kimmy's voice rose over Joey's, complaining that she couldn't practice with him yelling. Sara rolled her eyes and took the stairs two at a time.

"Yo!" she called as her head cleared the railing. "It's guest behavior time! What's the problem, Joseph?"

Grissom, following, could only marvel as she settled Joey's question and acceded to Kimmy's demand that she be allowed to stop clarinet practice since Doctor G had arrived. Then Joey was tugging at Sara's shirt; she bent down to listen to his whisper, then shot Grissom a look that mingled amusement and resignation. "Sure, why not; might as well get it over with."

Joseph grinned and ran upstairs; Kimmy gave Grissom a reserved "hello" and began taking her clarinet apart; and Sara came back over to where Grissom was standing by the stairs, and took the bouquet again. "Make yourself comfortable. But better look for Legos on the couch cushions before sitting down."

Grissom let the corner of his mouth turn up. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

Ed emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. "Glad you could make it," he said, all open friendliness, and Grissom was struck at the similarity between brother and sister--the unafraid gaze, the willingness to meet things head-on. Sara had lost some of that confidence during her last year in Las Vegas, but it had returned, and Grissom figured that if Ed was the reason, Grissom owed him thanks.

"So am I," he replied, and pulled out the wine bottle and handed it to Ed. The younger man took it, brows going up in approval.

"Perfect. That's a good winery; ever been there?"

Grissom shook his head, setting his bag down in an unoccupied corner. At that moment, Joey came bounding back down the stairs holding a large sheet of construction paper. He ran up to Grissom.

"This is for you because you found me," he announced. Grissom took the dark red sheet; letters cut from different colors of paper were pasted across most of it to spell out "Thank you Doctor Grissom". The various blobs of glitter scattered around were, Grissom deduced, meant to be insects, since they each had three lines sticking out of each half and two shorter ones out of one end.

"Wow, this is pretty amazing. Thank you, Joey." He looked down at the little boy, trying to treat the gift as it deserved, and saw the same clear innocence he used to see in Lindsey's eyes.

Joey, overcome with a fit of shyness, retreated a little to press against Ed's hip. "Aunt Sara said you liked bugs," he explained, and Grissom nodded.

"I do. I used to keep them as pets."

"Gross!" Kimmy said from where she was packing up her instrument, but Joey's face brightened.

"What kind of bugs?"

Grissom held out a hand, palm up. "A spider almost as big as this, and giant cockroaches."

"They hissed, Joey," Sara added. "I saw them once. They were bigger than your toy cars."

"Whoa." Joey was obviously impressed.

"And he can tell you all about them after dinner," Ed cut in easily. "First, though, you both have homework to do, right?"

Amid assorted groans, the siblings trudged upstairs. Sara tugged gently on the poster. "I'll put it aside until later."

He relinquished it, and Ed jerked a thumb at the kitchen. "Want a beer?"

The big room wasn't as bright as the last time Grissom had seen it, but it was still comfortable. Ed pulled three bottles from the fridge and opened them, handing one each to his sister and Grissom as Sara followed them in. An array of sliced vegetables waited on the counter, and Ed started scooping them into a large wok as Sara opened the oven door. The scent of broiling fish drifted out.

"Bread'll be done soon," Ed commented, hands full of snow peas, and Sara nodded, but before she could reply Kimmy's voice spoke from the intercom grille on one wall.

"Aunt Sara? I need some help."

Sara closed the door and sighed melodramatically. "Why is it always me?"

"You're more fun than me," Ed retorted, setting the wok on a burner, and Sara rolled her eyes.

"Sorry about this. I should be back in a minute," she said to Grissom, then picked up her beer bottle and padded out of the room.

"Take your time, it gives me a chance to grill him," Ed called after her, and Grissom turned just in time to see the rude gesture she made before she vanished. Ed chuckled. "Some things never change. The kids love her," he added, turning on the stove.

"She's an excellent teacher," Grissom acknowledged, a little wary. "She was mentoring our newest CSI just before she left, and doing an outstanding job." He didn't know what Sara had told Ed about her abrupt departure from Las Vegas, or the reasons behind it.

"She says she's not good with kids, but she is," Ed agreed. "She saved our lives, coming to help."

"I meant to say earlier, I'm sorry for your loss," Grissom said quietly.

Ed looked up from the stir-fry. "Thanks. It's not as bad as it used to be," he said frankly, and then smiled a little. "Y'know, you're one of the few people I've heard say that without sounding either insincere or smarmy."

Grissom blinked, not sure what to make of that. "It's--I see a lot of loss, in my line of work."

"I'll bet." Ed picked up a bottle and added a squirt of something to the steaming wok. "Have you ever lost anyone, Doc?"

"Not like that." Grissom leaned against the counter, looking idly down at his beer bottle. Condensation was pearling along its sides.

"But you have lost someone," Ed stated, tilting the wok a little over the flame.

It couldn't be the beer, he'd barely had a swallow or two, but nevertheless Grissom was moved to an insane honesty. "Your sister."

Ed said nothing, but his small curious smile invited Grissom to continue.

He tightened his fingers on the bottle's neck nervously. "I let her get away from me. It took me way too long to straighten things out in…in my head, and then I did something stupid and I didn't try to fix it. I thought it was too late." Grissom looked down at his beer again. "When the chance came up again, I couldn't turn it down."

Ed nodded, and picked up a spatula to stir the food. For a minute or so the kitchen was silent except for the hiss of the steam. Then Ed spoke again.

"When Jenny died, I didn't sleep. I would sit out in the living room with a soda, waiting for morning, and every so often I would run upstairs to check on the kids. Making sure they were all right, you know?"

Grissom nodded, understanding what Ed meant--that he'd had to reassure himself that his children, at least, were still breathing.

"Sara was sleeping in the spare bedroom then. I'd go upstairs at, oh, two or three in the morning, and I could hear her crying." Ed's glance was unaccusing, but Grissom's stomach hurt sharply at the younger man's words. "I didn't do anything. I suppose I should have tried to comfort her, but--" He shrugged sadly. "I was hurting too much myself, I guess. And it wasn't like I'd been a real brother to her in years anyway."

Ed turned the vegetables with the spatula, examining them, and then lowered the gas a little. "After about six weeks, I didn't hear the crying anymore. I don't know what Sara was like in Las Vegas, Doc, but I do know she was too thin when she got here. Working for the FBI is good for her, she brightened up and she really enjoys it. She talks like she wants to spend the rest of her life here."

_Is he warning me off?_Grissom wondered, a little sick. He hadn't thought of Ed as an obstacle, but then he hadn't really thought about the lanky man at all in the scheme of his hope of winning Sara's heart and forgiveness.

"Then you show up when Joey gets lost," Ed continued. "And all of a sudden I'm hearing crying in the night again."

The pain in Grissom's stomach knotted and climbed towards his throat. "I--" he started, and realized he had no idea what to say.

But Ed shook his head. "She's been a nervous wreck for two weeks," he said. "Distracted, short-tempered, talking to herself. And if she finds out I'm telling you this, she'll kill me," he added in a wry tone.

Grissom cleared his throat. "I don't understand."

Ed smiled down at the wok. "I love my sister, Doc. We've spent too much time apart, but she's a great gal and one of the best people I know. And for three years I've watched her bury herself in work and my kids. I've seen her turn invitations down flat, and I've seen her walk right past guys that were willing to do practically anything just to get her to smile at them. Smart guys, too." He tilted the wok again, then lifted it from the flame and let the contents slide into a serving bowl waiting on the counter. "But she went to pieces the minute you said you wanted to come visit.

"I know what it's like to wish every moment of every day that you could turn back time, just for one more chance with the person you love." Ed's words were without bitterness as he turned off the burner. "Sara's a physicist, she'll tell you that time travel's impossible. But you're her second chance, Doc. You're the person she loves. What happened in your past doesn't matter to me, as long as you're a big part of her future."

Ed sighed, turning to rest one hip against the counter, and then grinned a little at Grissom's dumbfounded expression. "Sara's made her life good, but it's still missing a piece. You're the piece," he said, as if it explained everything.

Grissom swallowed, trying to get a handle on Ed's extraordinary monologue. "That may be true, but it's no guarantee that she'll let me be a part of…of her future."

"True." Ed reached for his own beer. "And Sara's more stubborn than a skunk sometimes. But…"

On some level, Grissom was aware that this conversation should be making him far more uncomfortable than it actually was. "But?"

Ed lifted the bottle at Grissom in a toast. "But you're here."

Grissom felt a smile coming on. "Yes. I am." He took another sip of beer and regarded Ed thoughtfully. "Aren't you going to threaten to kill me if I hurt her again?"

The taller man chuckled. "Is that what a good brother is supposed to do?" He ran a hand through his hair, eyes twinkling. "I don't have to. Sara'll kill you herself."

Dinner was pretty much what Grissom expected, having eaten at Catherine's any number of times when Lindsey was younger--adult conversation that worked its way around and through the kids, with detours into answering their questions. The children were well-behaved for their ages, but were somewhat wriggly with the change of having a guest.

The food was excellent; Ed, in contrast to his sister, was skilled in the kitchen, though when Grissom tendered compliments on the meal, Ed pointed out that Sara had made the bread.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, I put the ingredients in the bread machine. So much work involved."

"Practically chemistry," Grissom agreed. "With the underlying uncertainty factor of working with living organisms."

"'Under the most carefully controlled conditions of temperature, density and pressure, the organism will do what it damn well pleases'," Ed added.

Joey's eyes widened. "Daddy!"

Sara started laughing. Ed groaned. "It was a quote, it doesn't count!"

"Does too," Kimmy insisted, and Sara nodded enthusiastically.

"You could have edited it, Ed."

Ed threw up his hands dramatically. "What do you say, Doctor G?" he appealed, grinning, and Grissom pursed his lips in mock thought.

"While there's something to be said for preserving the pungency of the original quotation, one must consider the audience."

Ed sighed. "You're all against me." With great ceremony, he rose from the table and left the room, reappearing a minute later with four quarters, which he handed to his son. Joey got up to fetch a small frog-shaped bank from the sideboard nearby, and dropped the coins inside.

Amused, Grissom looked over at Sara. She was still smiling, a little smug as she watched her nephew replace the bank next to her vase full of lilies, and she looked up and winked at Grissom.

It felt very good.

**xxxxx**

It was still strange, seeing Grissom in her family's home, Sara thought as she watched him wandering around the living room while the kids cleared the table. Yes, he'd been in the house before, but not for any length of time, and he was observing, she could tell. Grissom perused book titles, glanced at the shelves of videos and DVDs, took closer looks at the photos, and stopped to examine the paintings that were hung here and there, all with the air of the polite scientist. It was so very like him.

He'd offered to help clean up, but Ed had chased them both out of the kitchen, and now Sara curled her legs under herself on the couch and let Grissom explore.

He had just finished his circuit of the room when the kids came out of the kitchen, and Joey went straight to Grissom, looking up at him; all his shyness appeared to have vanished over dinner. "Daddy said you'd tell me about your bugs."

"He did," Grissom agreed, and Joey towed him over to the couch. Grissom sat down at the opposite end from Sara, and Joey climbed into Sara's lap with the air of one whose world was settled to his satisfaction. She kept her smile to herself and cuddled him, and listened to Grissom describe the basics of roach racing and answer Joseph's questions. Kimmy found herself a book and sat in the big armchair, but when Ed emerged, he scooped her up and sat down himself, and she went on reading on his lap while the microbiologist listened to Grissom.

Sara decided, as she had the night before, to simply enjoy the moment. She had her family around her, the family she had only recently learned to value; she had Grissom back in her life, and while that might not be permanent, she had no desire to dwell on the future just now. Instead she interjected the occasional comment and noticed that Grissom seemed to have no trouble interacting with Joey. Every so often Grissom would lift his eyes from the boy to her, and the long deep looks…she couldn't help returning them for at least a few seconds, though half the time she dropped her own gaze before Joey drew Grissom's attention again.

_He's getting to me. Oh hell, he already has. _And she wondered just what it was he saw in her eyes that kept him returning to them.

Eventually Ed sat up a little. "Much as I hate to interrupt, it's time for small fry to get ready for bed. School day tomorrow."

This was also met with protests, but Grissom's brows went up. "Ah. I almost forgot." He retrieved the bag that had held the wine, and handed one small package to Kimmy and one to Joey. Sara looked up at him questioningly, and was charmed to see a light flush along his cheekbones as he shrugged. "It only seemed fair," was all he said.

Joseph's gift was a Matchbox fire engine; Kimmy's was a rose-pink Las Vegas sweatshirt. Both children thanked Grissom, pleased with their goodies, and Sara was somehow not surprised that he had chosen well. _He's nothing if not observant. _

Her thoughts ran on ahead, presenting her with a glowing image of what it would be like with Grissom's attention turned on her every day. For a second she wanted nothing more than to get up, yank him to his feet, and kiss him until he saw stars. But caution came right behind, whispering warnings.

_It's only been three days. That's not enough time. And anyway, it wouldn't be like that all the time, nothing is…_

_True,_her heart admitted, but went on imagining. _But wouldn't it be amazing to have it even part of the time? _

It was her turn to read Joey his bedtime story. Ed offered to take her place, but she waved him off; Grissom was here to get to know her family. Sara headed for the stairs after forty-five minutes, Joseph asleep and Kimmy in bed with her book--she had another half-hour before lights-out--and overheard the two men talking quietly about baseball. She paused in the darkened hallway for a minute or so, listening to their conversation as it floated up the stairs, but when she finally descended the look Grissom gave her made her suspect that he'd known she was lurking. The desire she'd tucked down under auntly concerns rose up again, and she stifled the urge to simply walk over to the couch and sit down next to him. _Right_ next to him.

Instead, she took her previous spot, and the three of them discussed government funding and the tribulations of scientists working for bureaucracies. Looking over at her brother, Sara tried to see him through the eyes of a near-stranger: a tall, thin man with a mop of brown hair that was only beginning to go silver; lines around dark eyes and a big warm grin. A formidable intelligence countered by a boyish demeanor.

Quite a contrast to Grissom, as she tried to do the same with him--stocky to Ed's leanness, bearded, hair closely trimmed; he was a man who turned inward instead of out, hiding his sorrows instead of letting the air reach them to heal. Equally brilliant, but quirkier.

_Not that Ed doesn't have his weird moments. _

A little after nine, Grissom glanced at his watch. "I should go," he said, and stood. "It's a school night for you two as well."

His glance towards Sara was uncertain, and she too rose. "I'll run you back to the train."

"Metro," Ed corrected lazily. "Three years you've been here and you still don't call it by its name."

Sara scoffed. "I have better things to worry about." She went to fetch Grissom's bag and the poster Joey had given him.

Ed stood and exchanged handshakes with Grissom. "Thanks for coming, man. You're welcome back any time."

"Thank you for having me," Grissom replied, sounding to Sara's ear just slightly shy.

"Are you staying up?" she asked her brother, and he stretched and cracked his knuckles.

"I think so. Got an idea I want to chase down."

They left him to it, going out the front door since Sara had left the convertible parked in the driveway. The sun was gone, and while the air was a little cooler, it was still thick with moisture.

"Want to, uh, go for a walk?" Sara asked, knowing that there was still a question to be answered.

They ambled along for almost three blocks in silence, hands in pockets; Sara had put Grissom's poster in her car to wait for them. Finally he spoke, the question hidden in her name. "Sara?"

She stopped walking, and he did too, swinging around to regard her in the harsh light of a streetlamp. Struggling to put her thoughts into words, Sara bit her lip. "Um, I'm not sure how to put this."

For an instant, she saw straight into him, to a terrible hurt, a returning despair, and then it was gone, hidden under a mask without expression. "You don't have to," he said flatly, and turned and began to stride away.

_Shit._ She lunged for him, missed, and gave chase. "Grissom. Grissom, wait!"

He didn't stop, but he wasn't running, and within a few seconds she was in front of him, blocking his path. He halted, jaw clenched, and she put a hand on his arm before he could explode. "Geez, Grissom, give me a chance to say something!"

He almost shrank from her touch, staring at her bleakly. "What do you want to say?"

"That you're an idiot?" she offered, close to tears or laughter or yelling, she couldn't tell which. "Grissom, I was trying to tell you that I want you to stay. If you want to, I mean--"

His eyes pinched shut, and his other hand came up to cover hers, holding it in too tight a grip; but she didn't shake it off, instead hastily qualifying her statement. "As a friend. For now. Anything else, we'll have to take it slow."

Grissom let out a long breath, and his clasp loosened. "All right." He bowed his head, as though letting a weight slip away. "All right."

And because it was what she wanted, and what he needed, and something friends could do, she slipped into his arms and held him, under the darkened sky.

**xxxxx**

It was almost eleven before Sara got back to the house; she and Grissom had walked for a long while, saying little but more comfortable with each other than they had been since she'd left Vegas. Longer, in fact.

They'd talked briefly about forensics, and Grissom had stated that he would lease a car the next day, and see about getting some of his belongings shipped east. When she'd dropped him off in the Metrorail parking lot, he'd undone his seatbelt, hesitated, and then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before sliding out of the car.

She'd been surprised...but not so much that she couldn't have ducked. If she had wanted to.

Now she walked softly up the stairs to the main floor, unsure if Ed was still awake; but the light was on in his study, and as she crossed the living room, his chair rolled backwards into view. "Hey," he said quietly, leaning back to peer at her through the doorway.

Sara kicked off her shoes and came to lean against his doorsill, much as she used to do in Grissom's office. "How's the genius simmering?"

Ed shrugged; his hair was wild from running his hands through it, and he had a pencil stuck behind one ear and two more on his paper-strewn desk. A computer hummed to itself on a table, and the rest of the small room was taken up with bookcases crammed with texts. "Getting there."

Sara peered at the computer screen, but microbiology was definitely not her field and she could make little of the data. "Don't stay up too late."

Ed waved this off. He too had the Sidle trait of being able to stay up for two or three days at a time to pursue an idea. "So how long were you two necking out there?"

Sara gave him a quelling look. "We agreed to stay friends for the moment."

Ed's face wrinkled up in disbelief "Friends? What the h-- heck are you doing?"

She smirked at his last-second substitution, but answered him. "He's screwed me over too many times, Ed, I'm not sure I can trust him yet."

Her brother took the pencil from behind his ear and tossed it onto the desk in irritation. "Sis, c'mon. The guy's completely gone on you. You could tell him to go play in traffic and he'd do it just to make you happy."

Sara folded her arms, a little troubled by his words. "Maybe. But _I'm _not ready." She tried to figure out how to explain. "He hurt me, Ed. I can't just...whatever, not like it didn't happen. I have to take this slow."

Ed let out a long breath, then shrugged, a conceding gesture. "Okay. You know what's best for you. But Sara--" He hesitated. "Don't wait too long. All things end sometime."

Sorrow drew lines on his face, and Sara knew he was thinking of Jenny. She unfolded her arms, held out one hand; Ed wrapped his own bony one around it, taking comfort and giving it.

**xxxxx**

Small figures in fuzzy black-and-white flickered on the TV screen; Grissom didn't know what he was watching, but it looked like people being chased by giant saltshakers--some old science-fiction movie, perhaps. He had the sound off, anyway, it was just something for his eyes to focus on while he thought.

That last chance was still his. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands, a fragile thing, pulsing with life as wary as the look in Sara's eyes.

His head ached, residue of that one black moment earlier when he'd thought that Sara was going to send him away. It had hurt, it had hurt so badly, but over even the knowledge that he would be alone was the agonizing thought that he had hurt _her_ that deeply. It had been self-recrimination as much as anything else that had made him walk away.

_But she didn't,_he reminded himself. _She wants me to stay. _

Now that the intensity of the past few days was over, now that his urgency to prove himself had eased a little, he could see the sense in her decision. They had been apart for three years without so much as hearing about each other, and their relationship had been on shaky ground before that. No matter how strong their attraction remained, neither of them were the same, and it would take time to learn the changes.

Grissom closed his eyes, summoning back the feel of her hug, the way her slender frame had fit against his, the spicy-sweet scent when he'd turned his face into her hair. It had felt so good, as thought it were something he'd been missing for a long time.

_Maybe it is._

He looked at the screen again. The saltshakers were apparently having a meeting of some kind.

_I have six months to start with. More if I want it. _He'd already been thinking of leaving the Vegas crime lab anyway, but if he was going to stay in Virginia even for just six months he needed something to occupy his time.

_Not that I wouldn't love to spend all my time with you, sweetheart, but you have other things to do. _He smiled a little at the Sara who wasn't quite there, and began considering options.

And dreaming of holding her again.

**xxxxx**

Monday morning was as normal as mornings ever got around the Sidle house. Sara came down to start the coffee and found that Ed had not, in fact, gone to bed the night before, so she routed him out of his study and sent him upstairs, complaining, to shower and shave before work. Most days she would have let him call in to his lab and chase whatever idea he had, but she knew he had a meeting that he couldn't miss.

So did Sara. She ate her toast, making a mental rude gesture at both Grissom and Gracie for teasing her, then dressed a little more formally than usual--a buttoned blouse instead of a pullover one, and the silver chain with the tiny magnifying glass charm that Nick had sent her last Christmas. Interacting with bureaucracy went better when she knew she looked formidably professional.

But her concentration was disturbed when she reached her desk, one small cubicle in the midst of others, because on it was a vase of roses, pink and white this time. Dumping her purse next to the display, Sara reached for the card, struggling to control her expression. She knew some of her colleagues were watching; Security would have brought up the delivery from the front desk, and the guards were never subtle.

The small card held just two words, but they broke her smile free.

_Thank you._

**See Chapter 5**


	5. Chapter 5

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. The sonnet is #104. **

**  
Thanks, as always, to Cincoflex for everything, Trialia for offering much-needed reassurance, and everyone who has left a review or otherwise told me what you think! I wouldn't do this without you.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was an itchy, fizzy sort of feeling, Sara decided, knowing that Grissom was within twenty miles of her, practically within arms' reach. But she also figured that she'd get used to it in time.

Eventually.

She didn't see him for three days after he came for dinner, more because her work got hectic than anything else, but she did call him Monday night to see how he was settling in, and to thank him for the flowers. They ended up talking for almost two hours, about forensics and the Las Vegas crew and nothing in particular, and while Sara yawned through most of Tuesday, she was surprised at how pleased she was by the situation.

_It feels like my life is actually going the way it's supposed to. For once. _To be sure, she'd never envisioned anything like this, not when she was still in Vegas and not in her unhappy, half-smothered daydreams since. In all their previous interactions, Grissom had held the power, whether he realized it or not; now, she was the one ostensibly in charge, and he was the supplicant. It soothed some of her apprehension, but Sara was also aware that she preferred a relationship that was more or less equal in both give and take.

_Well. Hopefully we'll get there eventually. _

And in the meantime...oh, in the meantime, it was lovely to be courted. From the Thursday noon when he met her for a quick lunch near her office building, to the Saturday when he turned up at the house and spent most of the afternoon helping Kimmy and Sara with the ten-year-old's science project, to inviting her for walks in the evening, Grissom was proving himself all she had dreamed he could be, and more. Yet it wasn't the things he did for her that she valued, or even the little gifts that he sent her--it was the fact that he not only cared, but was showing it at last.

Sometimes she feared that her heart couldn't stretch enough to take it all in. Other times--usually on waking from another absurd, chilling dream--she wondered dismally when it would all vanish, leaving her cold and alone again.

**xxxxx**

Among the many things that astonished Grissom about his chosen new life was the ease he felt with it. Finding something to do had been absurdly simple--he'd merely gotten in touch with an old friend at the Smithsonian Institution, who when hearing that Grissom would be in town indefinitely, promptly offered him a job working with the Institution's enormous insect collection. It didn't pay well, but Grissom wasn't doing it for the money. Work had been most of his focus for most of his life, and as a consequence he spent little; his townhouse had been the major purchase of recent years. A superior financial advisor and judicious investments had left him plenty of funds to purchase the occasional racing roach, and still have so much left over that if he cared to, he could retire and live quite comfortably.

To keep his hand in, Grissom also made it known to various local law enforcement agencies that he was available for consults. _That _paid. And it proved that he could probably make a living consulting, if he wanted to; something he had decided he needed to think about. Things were still very uncertain, but if he did succeed in a relationship with Sara, he could very well end up staying in Virginia permanently.

The idea distressed him a little; after all, his home and friends were back in Nevada. But Grissom refused to worry just yet. There were far too many variables still in play, and no need to borrow trouble.

For a little while, he indulged himself in imagining a house hunt with Sara, trying to find the perfect place for them to share. But somehow it always morphed into his townhouse, and him opening the door to let her in, watching with pleasure as she put her clothes in his closet and her plants in his windows.

Making it her own.

**xxxxx**

Grissom stared at the small envelope, bemused. It wasn't often that his mail included something pink; rarer still did it have the image of Barbie emblazoned on it. _In fact, I think I can safely say that I've never received anything with Barbie on it before._ But among the bills and one check and the ubiquitous junk mail he'd fished from his post office box lay this new missive, and while Grissom didn't precisely recognize the careful, round handwriting, he was reasonably sure he knew the sender.

He took his handful of mail over to one of the counters that dotted the post office's lobby, and opened the pink envelope first, curious and amused. Sure enough, it was from the Sidle children, though Kimmy was obviously handling the correspondence for the both of them. Moreover, it was an invitation--to a birthday party for Sara.

Grissom realized he was delighted to be invited, though he sincerely hoped that the pink-and-doll theme did not extend to the party itself. He'd already broached the subject with Ed, as delicately as possible, and discovered that birthdays were sacred in the Sidle household--natal days meant family celebrations, no exceptions. That had put paid to his plan for a private birthday dinner, though Grissom supposed he could just as easily take her out a day later for the same purpose.

The invitation included a pre-stamped RSVP postcard, also pink. Grissom carefully checked the appropriate box to say he would attend, grateful that he had no need to worry about the date. One advantage of being unattached to a lab was the ability to make his own schedule.

Then he put the postcard aside with a smile, and turned to the rest of his mail, his thoughts already running ahead to the date. _And I already have a gift._

Ten days later he was pulling into the parking lot of a public park near the Sidle house, a little nervous. He'd had dinner with Sara's family twice since the first time, but Grissom figured that this event would include some of Sara's friends, and he had realized suddenly that he knew very little about them. Sara hadn't spoken much of friends, merely making reference in passing to colleagues with whom she occasionally went out for lunch or drinks. Ed had accepted Grissom with an ease that astonished the CSI, but Ed had his reasons.

_Are they going to look at me and see a weird old man? Are they going to ask her later why she even lets me hang around? What am I going to talk to them about? _It wasn't something he'd normally care about at all, but he didn't want Sara harmed by her association with him.

_Get a hold of yourself. _Grissom shook off the specter of social unpleasantries._ I'm sure either Ed or Sara supervised the invitations. They wouldn't have asked you if they didn't want you here._

He parked his car and climbed out, scooping up the small wrapped box that held Sara's present, then shut the door and looked around.

His first impression was one of overwhelming green, quite a contrast to Vegas' arid summers despite the artificially sustained lawns. The park was laid out like a long, winding ribbon along the creek that ran through its center; it was never even a quarter-mile across, but was miles long, and thick with trees. To one side of the lot were a couple of tennis courts and two basketball courts, along with a small building housing sanitary facilities; following instructions, Grissom went the other direction, towards the playground equipment a little ways away. There were quite a few children and families about, but as he drew closer he spotted a picnic table ornamented with clusters of helium balloons, and suddenly recognized Sara's slender energy setting out platters on the tablecloth.

It was just her at the moment, and he was able to get quite close before he chose to speak. "They're making you work at your own party?"

She straightened with a gasp, but instead of cussing him out as she might once have, she turned and astonished Grissom by giving him a quick hug--so quick that his hands had only time to land on her waist before she was letting him go again. "Hey, Griss, you know me--I have to have something to do."

"It's that or tie her to a chair, and we don't have any rope," Ed added, appearing with a cooler on wheels.

Grissom willed his heart to calm from the speed Sara had inspired. "Can I help?" he asked, and Ed gave his trademark grin, with a hint of mischief.

"Sure, just do whatever Sara tells you." Grissom's brows went up, and he heard Sara make an exasperated noise, but Ed was already heading back towards his minivan.

Grissom turned back to Sara. "I am yours to command," he said, managing to keep his face straight, and she snorted.

"You can help Smart Boy with the rest of the stuff if you like," she said. "There isn't that much left."

She was right. Within minutes, the table was loaded with platters of goodies, most under lids of some kind to keep off the yellowjackets, though Grissom couldn't resist spilling a little of his soda onto a paper plate to attract a few for closer observation. Almost before he knew it, the kids turned up and Joey attached himself to Grissom's elbow to demand information about the brightly striped wasps. Kimmy and her jacks-playing friend gave the plate a wide berth but didn't protest.

It took a little while to satisfy Joey's questions, and when Grissom looked up, he realized that other guests had arrived while he wasn't looking. Sara introduced him to the three women and three men; four were colleagues of hers, and two worked with Ed but were apparently friends with both siblings.

Not one of them looked at him with anything other than mild interest. The two microbiologists got involved in debating with Ed almost at once, and Sara distributed beers to her coworkers, grinning as one woman's face lit.

"Dr. Grissom! Of course, the entomologist. I attended one of your lectures a few years ago." She shook her curly head. "I didn't make the connection with that beard."

It was as easy as that. She asked a few insightful questions about forensic entomology, and Grissom found himself suddenly at ease in answering them and discussing the latest in forensic science. When he looked around for Sara a few minutes later, she was leaning against the table and sipping her own beer, smiling to herself.

After that it was filling plates and finding seats among the various folding chairs and picnic benches available. The food was mostly vegetarian picnic fare, salads and chips and deviled eggs, and at some point Ed had started up a grill to cook veggie burgers and real hot dogs. The three kids bolted their supper and then headed back out to play; Joey had apparently already made several friends among the other children making use of the equipment.

A small pile of presents had accumulated at the end of the table, and Grissom added his little box to it while Sara wasn't looking. This wasn't quite like any birthday party he'd attended before, not that he'd been to one recently, but he was finding it enjoyable as the comfortable conversation continued. He snagged a chair next to Sara's after he refilled his plate.

"Having fun?" she asked lightly, chasing some watermelon around her own plate with a fork.

Grissom swallowed a bite of egg. "Yes, actually." He cocked his head. "Is Ed usually that twitchy?"

They both looked across to where Sara's brother was talking with one of his colleagues, and glancing up fairly frequently. Sara snickered.

"He's waiting for Gracie to show up. She's got a housecleaning scheduled today, so she said she'd be late."

As if on cue, the redhead emerged from a car that had just pulled into the lot, hurrying towards them with a rather large box wrapped in an enormous bow. She gave Sara a breathless hug that was returned with warmth, and then Ed was there, teasing her for being late and finding her a plate and a drink. Grissom watched, finding himself amused by the dynamics underlying their interactions. If he didn't miss his guess, Gracie was as attracted to Ed as Ed was to her--and was equally as shy about it. Though, he was sure, starting a romance after losing a partner had to be a delicate business.

They all sat and chatted as the afternoon swung slowly towards evening, nibbling on food as the mood took them and discussing topics ranging from biomechanics to politics to dirty jokes. The other guests were as brilliant as Sara and Ed, Grissom could tell, and were all fairly likeable, being curious and open-minded. It didn't surprise him that the Sidles chose people of like minds and tempers.

Eventually it dawned on him that he'd been chosen too.

But before he could work the thought over, the three kids plunged back into the group, demanding that Sara open her presents so that the cake could be served.

Grissom half-expected Sara to be diffident about it, but instead she seated herself in front of the pile cheerfully, looking anticipatory. _I don't know why I figured that,_ he thought, taking a seat further down the table as the group rearranged itself. _Maybe because she's so shy about accepting praise… _Not that he'd given her much during his last stint as her boss, he thought grimly, but pushed the memories aside.

_We're making new ones. _

With her small relations in close attendance, Sara pulled the first package off the pile and began demolishing the wrapping. It happened to be the package from Gracie, and Sara opened the lid and pulled out a large, bright pink, rather startled-looking stuffed lizard. It sat on its haunches in a way no real lizard did, appearing to Grissom's eyes like something from a cartoon, and judging from the grin on Gracie's face and the chuckle emanating from Ed, there was more to the gift than met the eye. Sara started laughing as soon as she saw it, obviously delighted.

"Not another one! I'm going to have to give up my loft to the reptiles." But she belied the tease by hugging the toy, and Grissom's throat tightened a little at how young it made her look.

The rest of the gifts were smaller, books and CDs and a gift card, and a fingerpainted poster from Joseph. Grissom's gift was the second-to-last on the pile; Sara slid the small card out of the envelope he'd tucked under the ribbon, and to his delight he saw a faint flush bloom on her cheeks when she read what he'd written. Unlike the other cards she'd received, she didn't read his aloud, ignoring Joey's demand that she do so and Ed's speculative look. Instead she put it back in the envelope and slipped the ribbon from the little box.

It was another thrill to see her face when she lifted the lid and saw the sunburst medallion. Sara's lips parted in surprise, and then her eyes flew up to his. "How did you _know?_" she demanded. Grissom merely put on his best enigmatic expression, giving her only a smile.

Two of the women oohed appreciatively when Sara lifted out the necklace. It didn't match the purple shirt she was wearing, but she put it on anyway. "Can you hook it for me please, Kimmy?" she asked, and her niece's small fingers made short work of the catch.

One of Ed's colleagues shot Grissom an appraising glance, as though the man was reevaluating Grissom's standing in Sara's life. The CSI returned the look with equanimity. _Yes, I'm here, and I intend to remain here. Get used to it. _

Then Ed clapped his hands and stood. "Cake time! You guys pick a key, and I'll be right back."

"No singing!" Sara immediately countered, raising another round of laughter, and the issue was debated until Ed returned from the minivan in the glow of a candle-lit cake. He began singing in a strong baritone that nevertheless failed to resolve in any major key; Grissom rather thought the other guests joined in mainly to drown him out.

Sara covered her face, still laughing; Grissom sat quietly as the tune wound to an agonizing close, watching her contentedly. Ed set down the cake with a flourish, and she dropped her hands, her grin sparkling. "Make a wish, Aunt Sara!" Joey shouted, and Sara put an arm around him, squeezed her eyes shut, and blew all the candles out at one go.

Grissom stayed to help clean up in the cricket-singing dusk, wary of overstaying his welcome and yet not quite willing to leave just yet. Joseph was getting a little whiny, and both children were fairly grubby, but Ed herded them into throwing out trash and collecting the balloons before letting them go back to the swings for one last ride.

Sara walked Grissom to his car, slipping her hand into his as though it were completely natural, and he wrapped his fingers gently around hers and marveled. They passed by Ed and Gracie, who were standing close together in the dim, talking in low voices, and Grissom wondered how long they had been inching towards a relationship.

"Thanks for coming. And for the necklace," Sara said when they reached his vehicle, sounding a little awkward. Her free hand reached up to brush over his gift. "How--"

Grissom shook his head. "That's my secret." His gaze rose briefly to her lips, and he was tempted, so tempted--

But it was her choice. "Happy birthday, Sara. Thank you for inviting me."

She hesitated, as though about to say something more, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering. "See you on Saturday," she whispered, and then was gone.

It was, Grissom reflected, among the best thanks he'd ever received.

**xxxxx**

Sara shut the door to her room at last, and looked at the heap of gifts on the old paint-spattered worktable that had belonged to Jenny. It had been a long, if delightful, day, and Ed had had to go into work for some emergency, so it had fallen to her to put Joseph to bed and make sure Kimmy wasn't reading past lights-out.

_Finally._ She blew out a breath. She hadn't really had time to assimilate everything. Most of the gifts were trifles, a couple were dear--the hand-beaded hairsticks from Kimmy, for instance, who had inherited her mother's artistic bent--but there was one that held her attention.

Sara walked over to the table and picked up the little box from Grissom. The necklace was still around her throat--and she had her suspicions as to how he'd figured _that_ one out--but she wanted to reread the card, which she'd tucked inside the box for safekeeping.

His familiar neat handwriting, and Shakespeare. _Of course._

_To me, fair friend, you never can be old,_

_For as you were when first your eye I eyed,_

_Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold_

_Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,_

_Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd_

_In process of the seasons have I seen,_

_Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,_

_Since I first saw you fresh, which yet are green._

_Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,_

_Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;_

_So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,_

_Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived: _

_ For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;_

_ Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. _

And then just his name, the quick scrawl of _Gil_, even though she couldn't recall ever calling him by his first name.

She'd never really worried about growing older--never had time--and yet, the words were balm to some small sore point in her, that had so often wondered what about her made things so impossible for him.

"Ambiguous, too," she murmured to himself; as was so often true of both Shakespeare and Grissom, the sonnet could be taken two ways--either a compliment of true friendship, or the adoration of something more. "At least this time I know what you mean."

Sara tucked the card back into its envelope, and put the envelope in the drawer where she kept the dried roses from his first bouquet. She'd long suspected that Grissom, as erudite and intelligent as he was, might also be hiding a deep sense of romance beneath his reserve. It seemed to fit someone who could quote poetry at will and who paid obscure and moving compliments when one wasn't expecting them.

She let out a sigh, trying to settle the flutter in her stomach. When she'd told Grissom he could stay, she hadn't really considered what it would be like to have him not only there, but trying to woo her. It wasn't an easy thing; she ranged from moments of wanting to pounce on him to times when the old anger and hurt resurfaced, and it was sometimes hard to find a balance.

_But compared to the alternative…_ She looked at herself in the mirror, noting the tangled hair, the plum-colored shirt, the gleam of the medallion around her throat. It was pretty, yes, and she had wanted it when she'd seen it, but the fact that Grissom had chosen it for her made it doubly valuable, because it was tangible proof of his…well…desire.

"I don't know where we're going," she told her reflection softly. "But no way am I quitting now."

**See Chapter 6**


	6. Chapter 6

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. **

**This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. This chapter is dedicated to the intrepid crew that actually filmed the movie postulated below, and changed forever my perception of animated fruit.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was his stomach that finally made him pay attention. Grissom pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes, and realized that he had spent at least three hours immersed in a fresh stack of forensics journals, and his post-breakfast swim in the hotel's pool had been quite some time before. Sodden autumn rain still fell steadily outside the suite's window, as it had for three days running, but Grissom didn't mind it as long as he didn't have to try to keep it off evidence. In fact, he was rather cozy; the suite might be bland in décor, but its lamps gave off a warm light and its twin armchairs were comfortable.

Setting aside his current journal, Grissom stretched, still a little unaccustomed to having a Friday all to himself. He'd spent Wednesday in a lab in Maryland on a consult, and Thursday working at the museum, and felt himself at a bit of a loose end; he usually saw Sara at least twice during the week, but aside from dinner on Tuesday she'd had to work late. This Friday was supposed to be her day off, but they hadn't scheduled anything until Saturday; as much as Grissom wanted to spend time with her, he knew she needed space, and time to run errands and generally get on with her life. _Just because yours is on hold doesn't mean hers is,_ he reminded himself when his desires got querulous.

Sighing a little, he rose, trying to remember what supplies he had in the suite's small kitchen. He was…lonely. Far less lonely now, he had to admit, than he had been during the past three years, but still he missed Sara. _The heart is a greedy yearner._

As he headed towards the refrigerator, his cellphone rang, and he scooped it up absently, anticipating nothing more than a request for his forensic services. "Gil Grissom."

"Hey," came Sara's voice, a little breathless, and Grissom straightened with unexpected pleasure. "You busy?"

He smiled at empty air and leaned against the round table just outside the kitchen nook. "Not at all. What can I do for you?"

"Hide me?" There was definitely a laugh under her voice, but there was a hint of strain as well.

"Hide you?" Grissom repeated, his stomach forgotten. "From what are you fleeing?"

"My _family,_" Sara groaned. "Both the kids are home from school, teacher's planning days or something. We ran out of games to play yesterday. They've been whining all day because of the rain. I'm going freaking _nuts_ here. It's Ed's turn to handle 'em."

Grissom had to chuckle. "By all means, let me be your refuge."

Sara let out a sigh. "_Thank_ you. You're a lifesaver. I'm dying to talk to an actual adult."

He shook his head in commiseration, though he hadn't actually spent a lot of time cooped up with children since his high-school babysitting days. "Where do you want me to meet you?"

"Oh, we don't have to go anywhere," she answered. "Could we just hang out at your place?"

He blinked. Sara hadn't been inside his temporary home since she'd dropped him off the first night he was in town; he hadn't deliberately tried to keep her out, but it had never occurred to him that she might want to be there. He found the notion new but interesting. "Sure. I'll see you in about half an hour, then?"

"Um..." Sara trailed off, and Grissom raised a brow. "I'm...kinda there already."

She sounded so guilty. "In the parking lot?" he asked gently.

"Yeah."

Grissom looked around, delight mingling with a little apprehension. He kept the place tidy, but...

"Get up here before you melt, Sidle," he told her, striding into the bathroom and moving his still-damp swim trunks from the shower curtain rod to the shower head, then pulling the curtain shut.

She'd come to him, even before she was sure of her welcome.

Was there anything more satisfying?

**x**

Sara jogged up the stairs, puffing a little, embarrassed a little. She wasn't quite sure what had made her presume on Grissom like this--the man was practically a recluse, for pity's sake!--but he hadn't sounded annoyed on the phone, teasing her gruffly instead. She'd meant to give him space, they didn't have to get together every day and after all he was a solitary soul, but she was desperate.

The fact that there were a dozen places she could have gone to escape her brother's house was obvious, but Sara refused to look at it straight on. _He came here to see me,_ she reminded herself. _And it's not like we're in each other's pockets all the time, especially this week. _

Still, she almost wished she had brought something along besides her own slightly damp self. Back in August she'd bought him a philodendron as a suite-warming gift, something of a double-edged present, but it was the first time she'd been back to his place, and she came empty-handed.

_Oh well, too late now._ Sara pushed open the stairwell door and stepped into the thick-carpeted hallway, shivering slightly despite her jacket; the walk from the parking lot had been less than dry. The doors lining the hall were all anonymous, but she didn't have to look at the numbers to remember which one was Grissom's.

It opened as she reached it, and Grissom stood framed in the space, that slow wry smile spreading over his face as he looked her over, curly hair, flushed cheeks, and all. "Come in," he said, holding out a hand, and Sara surprised herself by putting her own into it and letting him draw her inside.

The room was warm and well-lit, and smelled of coffee, carpet shampoo, and Grissom. Sara could see at once that he'd made himself at home; a forensics kit sat neatly on the small table near the door, along with keys and a wallet, and there were journals and papers stacked on the desk; his dark blue windbreaker hung over the back of the desk chair. The philodendron had pride of place on the window cut in the wall separating the main room from the kitchenette.

But there were no bugs, Sara realized. "What did you do with your tarantula?"

Grissom, still holding her hand for some reason, shrugged a little. "He died last year, actually." He squeezed gently and let her go. "If you put your jacket on the closet door, it should dry fairly quickly."

She pulled it off. "What about your roaches?"

Grissom was heading into the kitchenette. "When I decided to take a leave of absence, I farmed them out to a fellow racer. They travel well, but I didn't think the hotel would appreciate having large insects on the premises."

Sara snickered, and hung her coat on the open door. "Gives new meaning to the term 'roach motel'." She wandered after him, not entirely at ease.

"Exactly." Grissom poured a mug full of coffee--fresh, judging from the aroma--and handed it to her, gesturing at the small pitcher of cream and the matching bowl of sugar sitting on the counter. "Help yourself."

Two spoons sat next to the containers, and Sara picked one up, bemused at the sight. "A tea set?"

He shrugged again, looking slightly embarrassed, and filled another mug for himself. "It's actually easier."

It was...endearing. Sara gave him a wide smile. "Cute."

That earned her a dry look spoiled by the amused purse of his lips--and the faint flush on his ears. She doctored her coffee busily to give him time to recover, and passed him the cream pitcher.

An awkward little silence followed. Sara realized that he didn't quite know what to do with her, any more than she knew what to do now that she'd arrived. But as she looked out past the plant to the slightly cluttered living room, an idea came to her. "Did you get the next issue of _Forensic Science International_?"

Grissom brightened at that, and within moments they had both settled down in the armchairs with thick glossy magazines in their hands, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the faint rattle of the rain.

It was, Sara thought when she surfaced from _Determination of synthesis method of ecstasy based on the basic impurities_, the first time in a very long time that she and Grissom had spent so much quiet time just being together, without a case or a goal or something to accomplish.

In fact, aside from a few weary moments after late-morning dinners back when she'd first arrived in Vegas, they'd never shared such a time at all.

It was amazingly comfortable.

At one point Grissom got up to refill their mugs, slipping past her with a murmur that wasn't quite words and returning with the pot and the cream and sugar, and it came into Sara's conscious mind that he wasn't wearing shoes--just white cotton socks. She found that even more endearing than the tea set.

The grey light outside the window was starting to dim a little when Grissom's stomach growled audibly. Both of them looked up, startled, and Sara half-expected Grissom to be embarrassed again, but instead he chuckled.

"I guess that's my cue to ask you if you're hungry too." He flipped his magazine shut.

Sara closed her own, shrugging. "I could eat." Actually, now that she was paying attention, she was almost ravenous. Even the sugar in the coffee had worn off.

Grissom tossed the journal onto the table. "Well, there's a nice restaurant just down the street, or if you care to risk my cooking, I have some food here."

His expression was pleasant but fairly neutral, giving Sara no hint of his preference in the matter, and with a small burst of assertiveness she decided to be selfish. "Since you're giving me the choice, I vote to stay here where it's dry."

He nodded, looking pleased, and stood up. "Sounds good. Let me see what I have to offer a vegetarian."

It took her less than two minutes to give up on reading, and get up and follow him as he made investigatory noises in the kitchenette. There wasn't room for the two of them in there--at least, not _yet_--but she leaned in the doorway and watched him. If he was nervous, he didn't show it. "Spaghetti okay?"

"Sure." She watched him dig out a large pot for the noodles and fill it with water; another, smaller pot received the frozen contents of a plastic container, which smelled enticingly tangy despite its solid state. Grissom then pulled a bottle of wine from another cupboard and a corkscrew from a drawer, and Sara stepped forward. "Here, I can do that."

Grissom relinquished the bottle without a protest, which was a nice change from other men of her acquaintance who acted like handling fine alcohol was exclusively a male province. She removed the cork with ease--she didn't open wine bottles often, but she knew how to do it right--and he took the bottle back to set on the counter. And then he just looked at her.

The water was heating, the sauce was softening; if Grissom had something else in mind, salad or bread or whatever, he was leaving it for later. Instead, he watched her with that calm, curious look he used on a scene, and it should have made her uncomfortable, but it didn't. She just crossed her arms and gave him the look right back.

A small, soft smile touched Grissom's lips. Moving a little closer, he lifted one hand carefully, like a man trying not to drive off something wild and wary. Curious, Sara didn't move, and then her heart melted when he slid his fingers lightly along her jaw until he could cup his hand around it. The touch was infinitely gentle, and bore no hint of sexuality; instead it felt like wonder. When she didn't move, Grissom's smile deepened, and then his hand dropped away, and he turned slowly to prod the sauce with a spoon.

Sara thought about asking him what it meant, and then reconsidered. _I think I already know._

The sauce surprised her when they sat down to eat, because it was made from scratch. "Where'd you get the recipe?" she asked Grissom, after an appreciative munch.

"Brass, actually," he answered, twirling his fork expertly in the pasta. "Though he usually puts sausage in his."

Sara nodded, and speared a black olive out of the salad that he'd put together. "Ed likes to use ground turkey sometimes."

Grissom swallowed his bite. "You haven't converted your family to vegetarianism?"

Judging by the twinkle in his eye, he was teasing her. Sara snorted. "No way. Besides, I'm not a vegetarian because it's a personal moral choice, I don't eat meat because it grosses me out. I used to love steak."

Grissom looked distinctly guilty at that, and she had to laugh. "Griss, it wasn't your fault. You nailed him! If that's what it took, I'm happy to give up meat." She gestured with her fork. "Besides, I didn't have to stay and watch."

"That's true." His mouth quirked. "I was...delighted that you did, though."

It was a firm memory, once well-loved, then painful, and she hadn't really brought it out in years. Grissom looking startled, then shyly pleased as she appeared next to him in the dry cold night, a bemused smile on his clean-shaven face; her own daring as she draped a blanket around his shoulders; the rank stench of the pig, with occasional dashes of coffee and Grissom relieving her poor nose. The closeness of it. Illusory, she had thought later, but now, sitting with him, she wondered if it just hadn't been a truth expressed before its time.

There was enough room in the little kitchen for Sara to dry the dishes as Grissom washed, since neither required much footwork, and they fell to telling silly stories of suspects and witnesses, and when they moved back out into the living room with more coffee they were having too much fun talking to go back to reading. It was like things had been in the beginning, Sara realized, tossing ideas and opinions back and forth, except that they were on a more even footing now; she was no longer the student.

And it was a delight to see Grissom so...lit up again. It really had been years since she'd seen his eyes so bright, his gestures so expansive; years since they'd laughed like that, let their words tumble over each other's sentences as they spun theories and argument. It was rather a shock to realize that it was almost eleven o'clock, and past time for her to go home.

"I'll walk you down to your car," Grissom said when she made her excuses; Sara considered arguing for form's sake, and then decided against it at the stubborn set of his jaw. She wasn't as interested in fighting it as she once had been; living with kids did make one reconsider one's assumptions, and it was hard to insist on safe behavior from minors when they could look her in the eye and demand why she didn't do the same.

Her jacket was indeed dry, and it had stopped raining at last; they stepped into the chilly air to find everything beaded with water and the asphalt of the parking lot gleaming in the sodium lights. Sara was reminded of the last time he'd walked her to a vehicle, and had to marvel at how much things had changed since then. She'd been prepared, then, to say goodbye to Grissom one final time; instead--

--Instead, some madness or desperation had driven him to kiss her, and a door she'd thought tightly shut had unlocked with a crisp, startling snap.

Grissom halted in front of her convertible. "This isn't the car you were driving in Pennsylvania," he said, revealing that his thoughts were running along similar lines.

Sara grinned. "Nope. I had the Mercedes in the shop for an A/C problem; that was the loaner car." She turned to face him, and suddenly the relaxed atmosphere of the evening was gone. The parallel to the previous walk grew stronger, and a kiss hung between them, phantom and alluring.

She _wanted_ to kiss him; that had never been the problem. She really, really wanted to feel the pressure of his mouth on hers again, to catalogue the sensations and compare them to the first two times, to have his taste on her lips once more. To know again that he did want her after all, as much as she did him.

But it wasn't smart. Not yet. She needed more time. This new Grissom could prove to be a mirage after all; and her heart was still a little sore from all the years of denial.

She didn't know if he understood that, but he tilted his head a little, and then enveloped her in an unexpected hug, a warm wrap of arms that felt wonderful and brought home again the notion that Grissom could be, would be, a marvelous comfort as well as a temptation.

Sara let herself relax against him, just for a moment, and knew--this was the right thing.

**xxxx**

They'd been talking almost an hour; between her job and his shift it was hard to find a time in which they were both free, so they made the most of it. Sara's sides ached from laughing; Greg had stored up his best stories to tell her over the phone.

"Oh, man, you didn't!" she exclaimed, smiling at the face in her mind's eye. "Hodges' face is _purple?_"

"And wouldn't you know, it clashes with his hair," Greg said smugly. "I heard someone telling him that he looked like a victim of the Attack of the California Raisins." He started singing "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" in a slurred voice meant to evoke zombies, and Sara howled.

"You do realize he's going to kill you later," she said when she got her laughter under control. Greg snickered.

"He can try, but he's no match for the Sanders wit. It was a thing of beauty."

"Photos?"

"Oh yeah!"

They giggled at each other for a minute, winding down. Sara sensed the mood shift just before Greg spoke again, the sobriety chasing along the phone lines ahead of his words.

"You don't talk to Grissom, do you?"

Sara opened her mouth, but couldn't think what to say, suddenly caught between the expected response and the hidden reality. Greg apparently took her silence for hurt. "I--I'm not trying to upset you, Sara. I was just wondering, kinda."

"Why?" she managed at last, her voice a little tight.

"He's not here. Well, I mean, he's here, but he's not _here _here."

"Greg..."

"He took a leave of absence, Sara. Six months! He left his cell number but all anybody knows is that he took off for...for the East Coast."

She choked back a snicker at Greg's hastily edited comment. "So?"

"I don't know. After you, uh, left--" Greg was hesitating, and it warmed Sara to hear the concern in his voice, his affection for his enigmatic supervisor. "He...he just went downhill. It's kind of hard to describe."

"Try." She bit her lip at the deception she was practicing on her friend.

"It's like he...lost heart or something, I dunno. There wasn't anything left, like he'd burned out but hadn't stopped moving yet, you know? Catherine got all worried, but said that there was nothing anyone could do."

Her throat was closing at the picture Greg was painting. He sighed, gusty in her ear. "He was fading. Really slow. Man, it was scary, watching him do that."

Tears spilled over her lashes. "Greg--"

"Oh geez." His voice was remorseful. "I'm sorry, Sara, I'm so sorry. You know me, I always talk too much--"

She swallowed. "It's okay, Greg." _Oh, Griss._ "Really."

"No it's not, I can tell." Now he sounded angry, probably at himself. "Sara--"

"Really, it is." She swiped at her eyes, glad that Greg couldn't see her, and frustrated because she could not reassure him. "Grissom's probably using his time off to regroup. He'll come back all full of some weird technique that nobody's heard of or something."

"I hope so." Greg sighed again. "Nick misses him even if he won't admit it, and Warrick just keeps muttering something about cake. I just wish--"

"What?"

"I hope he hasn't taken off for good. Not without saying goodbye."

Sara forced back another surge of tears. "He wouldn't do that to you guys."

"You think so?" But Greg sounded wistful rather than hopeful.

"Call him," Sara suggested. "You have his number, you said."

"I think he left it for emergencies only," Greg said doubtfully.

"If he didn't specify, you can call him for anything," she pointed out. "Do it, Greg. Just ask him how he's doing. It'll mean something to him, even if he never says so."

"He never says so," Greg said in resigned tones, but she could hear the humor. "Okay."

Sara couldn't resist asking. "He didn't tell you why he was going?"

"To reevaluate his life, he said. And...something about beauty."

_Beauty? _

_Oh. _

The tears came again, running down to meet her smile.

**See Chapter 7**


	7. Chapter 7

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**The Nutshell Studies do exist, and while I've never seen them myself, the research I've done indicates that they really are amazing. Details can be found at brucegoldfarb dot com/nutshell.htm, and an interesting look at Mrs. Lee at sameshield dot com/press/sspress117.html. The location of the CMO as described is approximate, and the building's interior is made up, but the Nutshells are open to be viewed by the public, by appointment. Call 800-833-6263 for more info if you're in the area. **

**Many, many thanks to M. Baumgarten for the suggestion!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom had to admit to himself, this wasn't quite what he expected.

But, as he listened to Joey whine and watched Kimmy sulk, he acknowledged to himself that it was natural. Ed, experienced parent, seemed mostly annoyed by his offspring's bad behavior, and Gracie was her usual quietly cheerful self, but Sara was obviously embarrassed and trying to hide it. Grissom wanted to tell her it was okay, he wasn't offended, but figured it would probably just make things worse.

So he kept his mouth shut and his hands in his pockets, and walked along beside the little family, observing because it was what he did.

The day had started well. Kimmy and Joseph had called in an earlier promise from Sara to take them to the Zoo, and somehow that had become all six of them. Grissom didn't mind; he was interested in seeing the animals, and outings with the children were usually quite pleasant. He'd thought there might be a chance that he and Sara could split off for a few minutes alone, in turn for watching the kids while Ed and Gracie did the same.

However, it didn't work that way.

First, it had started to rain about ten minutes after they'd arrived. Not a downpour, but a steady drizzle that gradually soaked through clothing. Ed and Sara had proposed leaving, but the children had begged to stay, so Ed had bought them plastic ponchos at one of the gift shops and they'd kept going.

But the tigers were asleep, and the elephants were holding still, and the hippos were underwater; the zebras were in their shelter at the back of their enclosure, the turtles were all in hiding, and all they could see of the Komodo dragon was the end of his tail peeking out from the hollow where he'd curled up. None of the inhabitants seemed to want to be seen. Half the displays seemed to be closed for renovation, and Joey got scared at the sight of the gorillas.

They trailed from one exhibit to the next, and the children started finding fault with everything. Joey pouted, and when Kimmy wanted Sara to buy her a big stuffed lion in one of the gift shops and Sara refused, she pouted too.

"May I buy it for her?" Grissom had asked in a low voice, thinking perhaps that it just exceeded Sara's treat budget for the trip; he'd been considering getting the kids something anyway, because he found it surprisingly fun to do so. It wasn't that he wanted to bribe them to like them--he simply enjoyed the delight on their faces.

But Sara had shaken her head. "She has allowance, and I don't want her expecting to get goodies every time we go somewhere. Thanks, though."

Now the five of them headed back for the entrance, the children dragging their feet and Ed looking grim. Sara was shivering a little with the damp cold, and Grissom wanted to offer her his jacket, but he'd already donated it to Kimmy. So instead he stepped up beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, rubbing to try to warm her up, and she shot him a grateful look.

"I'm hungry," Joey whimpered. "Can we go to McDonald's?"

"Nope," Ed said firmly. "You didn't eat your lunch." Joey had turned up his nose at the sandwiches they'd brought along. "You can have it now if you want."

The little boy began to sniffle. "I don't want 'em! I want McDonald's!"

"Too bad." Ed swung his son up into his arms, his tone level. "Going out to eat is a treat. You two have been naughty all day, so you're not getting a treat."

Joey started crying, not very hard; Ed ignored it, simply settling Joey onto his hip. Behind them, Kimmy heaved a deep, put-upon sigh, and Grissom carefully kept to himself his amusement at her sudden similarity to Hodges.

It was a silent group that got into the minivan for the trip back home. With a jerk of her head, Sara pointed Grissom to the front seat and took his place in the back next to Joey. Kimmy sat in the middle seat with Gracie, still sighing every so often, though Joseph fell asleep halfway home.

When they got there, Ed carried Joey upstairs to bed, while Sara fixed Kimmy a scrambled egg and toast--her request--for supper. "I think they're both coming down with colds," Sara told Grissom quietly. "Not that it's an excuse for their behavior, but it could be an explanation." She gave him a wry look. "You do realize, this means that we'll all probably catch it too."

Grissom shrugged, not alarmed at the idea. "I've got a strong immune system." He watched as Sara decanted eggs onto the plate. "Do you want me to, uh…take off?" Their plans of staying at the Zoo until sunset and then enjoying dinner out had rather collapsed.

Sara shook her head quickly. "No, please stay. Um, if you want to." She looked rather uncertain, and Grissom smiled at her.

"I want to."

Sara put the food on a tray and she and Gracie took it upstairs to Kimmy, who had retreated to her room. Grissom wandered out to the davenport to wait for Sara, and Ed came out of his study and collapsed on the other end of the couch with an explosive sigh of his own.

"Sorry about that, man," he said, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "Some days are just like that."

Grissom shook his head, and grinned a little. "Don't worry about it. Nice to see they're normal."

Ed snorted. "Too much so, sometimes. I hope you're planning on hanging around for dinner."

"If you don't mind." It was pretty much a rhetorical statement at this point; Grissom was still amazed by the swiftness with which Ed had accepted Grissom's presence, not only in Sara's life but in that of their family.

Ed yawned without replying, looking sleepy and rumpled; he'd changed out of the thick sweater that he'd worn to the Zoo, and he hadn't bothered to comb his hair afterwards. Grissom regarded the other man. "I do admire the way you two are raising them--they are well-behaved most of the time."

"I can guess what you're thinking," Ed said, and his voice was amused.

Grissom let a brow go up. "What am I thinking?"

"You're wondering how a guy from an abusive background can manage to keep his own family from going the same route."

Grissom cocked his head. "While it's true that I see a lot of repeated behavior in my line of work, I've never doubted the ability of a person to overcome their background."

Ed nodded, conceding. "I assume Sara's given you the lowdown on our family, if you can call it that."

Grissom made an assenting noise, hiding his shame at how long it had taken for Sara to trust him with the information, and Ed sighed.

"I'm not proud of my part in that, you know--I got out of it as fast as I could, and I left Sara behind."

"You were a kid," Grissom interjected, but Ed's expression didn't ease.

"I could have done something. Heck, I could have stayed in touch more at least. But that's done, I can't change it." He sighed. "Anyway, I had the perfect example of what _not_ to do in a relationship. I know a lot of guys in that situation grow up thinking that violence is okay, but I didn't--all it did was made me want to run away from it. In fact, I ran away from relationships, period." He snorted. "Until Jenny got a hold of me, that is."

He rubbed lean hands over his face. "I had help there, too--her family was perfectly normal. I didn't really believe in happy families until I met her parents. She knew what a marriage should be like, she knew what it was like to grow up without having to be afraid that your dad was going to lay your mom out on the kitchen floor."

His casual words made Grissom's stomach twist. Sara had told him some things, yes, but she hadn't given him a lot of detail. But he didn't interrupt, letting Ed tell his story at his own pace.

"She made me go for counseling before we got married. It helped. And we sat down and talked about how we were going to raise our kids, the choices we were going to have to make. She was the most compassionate person I've ever met, Doc." The grief that showed in his eyes was gentle, but Grissom could easily imagine a time when it was a tearing thing instead.

"She gave me a good start on things, and I've tried to keep it up. Sara was my lifeline. I don't know what I'd do without her and Gracie."

"Sara says she's not good with children, but she is," Grissom offered, and Ed chuckled.

"I think she's afraid that if she admits to being good with them, people will start asking her when she's going to have some of her own."

Grissom blinked at that. Children were a concept he'd only considered in the abstract for himself, and not at all for Sara. "She never struck me as being particularly ambitious to be a mother."

"Oh, she's not," Ed assured him, though Grissom had to wonder if Ed really knew for sure. "Says my two are enough."

Soft voices reached them as Gracie and Sara came down the stairs, and Ed grinned and tilted his head back to look at them. "Hey, ladies. Whattya want to eat?"

Sara too had changed, into a worn Berkeley sweatshirt; to Grissom's eyes she was adorable, reminding him of the young woman he'd first met years before. Gracie was half-enveloped in one of Ed's sweaters. "Is there any quiche left?"

Ed heaved himself to his feet again. "I'll check."

He disappeared into the kitchen; Gracie flashed them a grin and followed, and Sara sat down in the recliner and kicked off her shoes. She looked tired. "Are you all right?" Grissom asked.

Sara shrugged. "My feet hurt a little, that's all." She curled her legs under her. "I'm sorry about the kids."

"Don't worry about it," he repeated. "They can't be well-behaved all the time."

Sara snickered. "If only."

They were silent for a few minutes, relaxing into the comfort of being warm again and undogged by small whining people. Then Gracie called from the kitchen.

"You're in luck. There's one sausage and one plain cheese left."

Sara glanced over at Grissom. "That sound good to you?"

They lingered over dinner, since it was early; Grissom hadn't yet shared a meal with the two elder Sidles without the children present, and it was…fun. Ed shared his sister's sharp mind, and Gracie was no slouch herself; the debates flew thick and fast.

Afterwards they somehow ended up playing a cutthroat game of Scrabble, with the big dictionary to hand. Ed lost, mostly because he had no talent for spelling, but he didn't seem to mind, and when he did remember the correct spelling his use of biochemical terms earned him a lot of points. Gracie gave a respectable showing herself, but in the end it came down to the two CSIs and their voracious memories.

Grissom and Sara managed a tie. As they packed up the Scrabble set, Grissom couldn't remember the last time he'd played a game for fun; his college days of poker for funding hardly counted, although they had been interesting. And as he watched Sara put the game away into the coat closet, he realized that though he was still intent on wooing Sara, these quiet friendly times had become almost as important to him. He'd always been a loner, preferring solitude to company, and rarely had he experienced this simple pleasure--the laughter, the stimulation of interaction.

_And be honest, sharing screwdrivers with Catherine isn't quite the same thing. _

"Serendipity," he murmured under his breath. _Making an unexpected and fortuitous discovery when searching for something else. _

It wasn't quite on the level of the discovery of penicillin, but he'd take it.

**xxxxx**

There were better ways to spend her time, certainly, but sometimes, one just had to stick with tradition.

Besides, the bennies were good.

Sara ripped open another tiny packet of M&Ms and tossed a few into her mouth. _Is it just me, or has "Fun Size" gotten smaller since I was a kid? _

Picking up her book, she returned to the story, getting lost in descriptions of plant life and fauna for a while before the doorbell rang again.

Sighing, Sara stuck the book under her arm this time and got up from the chair she'd set next to the front door. The big bowl of assorted candy sat on another chair, and she picked the bowl up and opened the door.

"Trick or treat!" chorused three small figures, and Sara bent down to distribute handfuls of processed sugar, smiling. She didn't bother trying to identify the costumes, but it was nice to see their eyes light up at what she was handing out. Ed insisted on quality candy, and lots of it.

Straightening and accepting their thank-yous, she peered out beyond them; yes, an adult stood on the front walk, supervising this particular gaggle. Sara relaxed a little. Most of the kids had older escorts, but she couldn't help double-checking. _Comes with the job. _

The townhouse complex was well-lit, and not just by the jack o'lanterns on various front stoops; as the quartet moved off, Sara stood a moment in the doorway, observing. Other small groups were making their way from house to house, and Sara let herself remember.

She hadn't trick-or-treated often; her parents' bed-and-breakfast was too far from other dwellings to make it practical. But a few times she had been in decent foster homes come the end of October, the sort of place where the foster parents made an effort, and even if the costumes had been the cheap plastic kind, she'd had the fun of going around and soliciting candy like other kids.

_Not to mention the stash. _She'd been methodical, saving her candy, savoring each piece over time rather than eating it in just a few sessions.

Shivering at the cold air, she closed the door and sat down, pulling her sweater a little tighter. Kimmy and Joseph were out with their dad, leaving her to distribute, and Sara opened her book, waiting for the next ring.

It came before she'd gotten through a page, and she stood again, setting down her book and picking up the bowl before opening the door.

However, the person on the other side was a good deal taller than she was expecting. "Trick or treat," Grissom said, mouth turned up on one side, and Sara blinked, then grinned and slapped a Hershey bar into his palm.

"Sorry, all out of chocolate-covered grasshoppers."

"They're popular," he agreed, and she snickered and moved aside so he could come in. Another group was coming up the sidewalk, and she handed out more candy, aware that Grissom had taken the bowl's chair behind her.

She shut the door and turned, finding that Grissom had picked up her book and was riffling through it. "Out of journals?" he asked.

Sara took the other chair and put the bowl on the floor. "I can't concentrate on an article if I'm getting interrupted every ninety seconds."

Grissom nodded, still flipping pages. "This is a good book."

Sara cocked her head. "You've read _My Family and Other Animals_?"

"Gerald Durrell's tales of insect life are almost lyrical, if slightly unscientific." Grissom held out the book to her. "Not to mention, he's extremely funny."

Sara took it and laughed. "Oh yeah. I tried reading one of Lawrence Durrell's books and I could not take it seriously. I kept remembering Gerald's stories about his big brother."

"I visited his zoo in Jersey, once," Grissom said thoughtfully.

"Wow." Sara was impressed, not so much by the fact itself as by Grissom sharing it. "I didn't even know you'd been to the U.K. Lots of bugs?"

He shook his head, giving her his half-smile again. "None at all, in fact. Durrell concentrated more on the larger life forms. But it was quite an experience." He started opening the chocolate bar. "What I'd really like to do someday is visit Greece." He gestured at the book. "His descriptions make it sound amazing, though I doubt things are the same."

He was full of surprises tonight. "You should go, then."

Grissom broke off part of the bar and held that out too. "I probably will someday." His eyes flicked up to meet hers as she took the chocolate, and she could see the question he wasn't asking out loud.

_Come with me? _

**x**

When the door opened without a knock, Sara was surprised to realize how much time had passed, but she was laughing too hard to care. Grissom was sitting backwards in his chair, arms on the back, eyes alight. "And then Jim turned around, clutching the blanket around him, and there were at least three people with cameras…" His voice was shaking with laughter.

"Hi, guys," Sara choked out. Joseph's and Kimmy's hellos were brief as they galloped up the stairs to sort out their loot, but Ed shut the door slowly behind him, looking from Sara to Grissom and back again. Both of them were breathless from laughing, and a small pile of candy wrappers sat next to the near-empty bowl. "How much did you _have?_" he asked in disbelief.

"It's the sugar," Grissom managed, trying to sober himself without much success. "She's not used to eating that much at one time."

"Yeah, that doesn't explain you!" Sara retorted, nudging his leg with the toe of one foot. Judging from the way Ed's eyes were crinkling, she was never going to hear the end of this, but at the moment she was on too much of a rush to care.

Her brother sighed theatrically. "You kids--can't trust you on your own--"

Sara's rude gesture was real this time, and Grissom started chuckling again. With great deliberation, Ed shut off the porch light and picked up the bowl. "Go on, both of you, out. Walk it off. I have to go up and take my cut of the haul." He fished in the bowl and tossed Sara a package of peanut butter cups. "For the road."

There were still some groups of kids out as they wandered along, but fewer; the night was winding down. Sara felt her chocolate-induced hilarity ebbing, but it left a good tired feeling in its place, of muscles stretched by laughter, and the pleasure of company that shared one's sense of humor.

"Halloween is unique in the plethora of American holidays," Grissom mused by her side, calmer. His brief foray into silliness was over, but Sara knew she would treasure the memory of him unguarded, trying to make her laugh but susceptible himself.

"Because it's the only one that focuses almost entirely on children," she agreed. "Did you trick-or-treat when you were a kid?"

"On occasion." Grissom had his hands in his jacket pockets. "It wasn't so elaborate then; in my case, a costume was usually a ghost made out of an old sheet, or when I was older, a torn shirt and fake blood."

"What, no knife sticking out of your back?" Sara teased, and he shot her a sly glance.

"I couldn't get it to stay in place."

That set her off again, and she laughed as they strolled, enjoying the thought of a little boy with smashed brown curls pulling off a sheet to count his candy. "So were you a hoarder or a gobbler?"

"Hoarder, of course." Grissom looked smug. "Though the problem was always whether to save the best for last, or eat it before it went stale."

"I knew I liked you for some reason," Sara teased, and hooked her arm through his. His stride wobbled for a second, but he recovered, and she felt his arm snug hers in closer as they continued.

"What did you make the blood out of?"

"Red food coloring, mostly. I can't remember all the ingredients at this late stage, but I think petroleum jelly was one of them." He let a few yards pass. "What about you?"

Sara shrugged, less bothered by memories than in the past. "I only did it a few times, in foster care. But it was fun--I guess kind of a stress relief, you know? For one night I was just like all the other kids."

Grissom nodded, and she sighed a little, content rather than wistful--happy with her moment as it was. "Plus, there was the candy."

"A bonus," he agreed, and they walked on.

**xxxxx**

Sara shifted in her seat. "When are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Grissom signaled for a turn, a tiny smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Patience, Sara. It's an investigator's great strength."

She huffed, pretending to be more annoyed than she was. "We've been driving for almost an hour."

"We have an appointment." Grissom drove into a parking garage and was pleased to find a space on the first floor. Parking in Baltimore was not usually easy, particularly on a Saturday.

As he shut off the engine, Sara took off her seatbelt, and he knew that she would be out of the car before he could make it around to open the door for her. It was a courtesy he enjoyed, partly because it allowed him to take her hand in the purely ceremonial duty of helping her out of the vehicle, but she usually only let him do it when they were going somewhere formally dressed. Grissom wasn't sure if she was too impatient to wait for him, or if she just forgot.

Nevertheless, as he closed his own door and came around the car, Sara looped her arm through his, and that was more than enough to make up for the loss. "Well?"

Grissom guided her towards one of the pedestrian exits. "It's a surprise. You can wait a few more minutes." He cast a wistful glance towards the bulk of Camden Yards a few blocks away, but baseball season was over.

Their destination was only half a block distant, and the speculation in Sara's face intensified as they signed in with the guards at the office building. Grissom led her into a long hallway; a large sign reading "MORGUE" hung on the wall opposite, pointing down the corridor, but Grissom turned the other way instead, heading for a closed door. The plaque next to the door read "Chief Medical Examiner".

Sara was obviously thinking hard, and Grissom enjoyed her puzzlement as he opened the door. The diener within told them that the ME was out, but when Grissom gave the man his name, the diener grinned and escorted them up two flights into another hallway, unlocking another door and ushering them in. "Take your time, Dr. Grissom," he said, heading back out. "Just let me know when you're through so I can lock up again."

"Thank you," Grissom replied, his attention mostly fixed on Sara. She was looking around the room with open-mouthed delight, taking in the small, exquisitely detailed dioramas of crime scenes.

"The Nutshells," she said in an awed voice. "I totally forgot they were kept here. Grissom, this is fabulous!"

He chuckled, very pleased. "I thought you might like them."

She stepped forward and bent over one of the displays, which was about the size of the average dollhouse but far more complex and skilled. "You're so right."

Grissom watched her eyes moving as she absorbed the tiny scene, and came closer for a better look himself. "I was here once years ago. The ME uses them to teach detectives even now."

"Yeah, I know," Sara said, rummaging in her purse and extracting a compact magnifying glass. "Forensic technology's way ahead of these scenes, but they're still great tools."

They were. The eighteen Nutshell Studies were the creation of Frances Glessner Lee, a wealthy society woman who became a criminalist out of fascination with the science, and who helped promote it. Grissom, like many others in law enforcement, had been struck by the mind-boggling detail of the dioramas, which illustrated different murders in order to train detectives to find, observe, and preserve evidence.

The two of them worked their way slowly through the display, commenting on the variety of the deaths shown. Many of the tiny items, including the pencils and whistles, actually worked, and Grissom found himself marveling anew over Lee's dedication to the concept.

It was almost like working a scene together again, but without the grim purpose. They kept spotting the same evidence at the same time, and Grissom was both moved by the ease with which they meshed and saddened by the knowledge that they probably wouldn't ever work together again like they once had, even if they stayed together.

They spent more than two hours poring over the Nutshells before they were ready to leave. As they stepped out into the early afternoon, Sara blinked at the autumn sunlight and grinned. "That was really astounding, Griss. Thanks for bringing me here."

Grissom captured her hand with his. "You're quite welcome." They set off down the sidewalk at an unhurried pace. "We have the afternoon before us--what would you like to do?"

She arched her brows, and swung their joined hands a little. "The Science Center has a 3D IMAX movie about bugs."

Grissom cocked his head, and sped up a little. "That answers that question, then."

Sara laughed. "I'll take you out to dinner afterwards."

**x**

Sara gritted her teeth. It had been a lovely day, between Grissom's surprise for her and the fun of the Science Center, and she didn't want to ruin it with an argument, but he was being stubborn. "Grissom," she said carefully. "This is not up for discussion."

He folded his hands and rested them on the table with the care of someone trying to hold onto his temper. "Sara--"

She cut him off, keeping her voice low. There was no putting this off, but she had no more desire than he to make a scene in the middle of the Indian restaurant. "_I _invited _you,_ I'm paying for dinner."

Grissom's mouth tightened in the old familiar manner, the sign that he was seriously annoyed. "That is not how I do things."

Sara gave him a look that she hoped conveyed her disdain for that his statement. "I don't give a damn. If we're going to have a relationship--" Grissom flinched, and she went on without stopping. "--it's going to be an equal one."

He frowned at her. "This has nothing to do with equality, Sara, it's just good manners."

"Yeah, manners half a century out of date." He winced again, and Sara bit her tongue and softened her tone. "I'm not talking about the age difference, Grissom. But this isn't your mother's world any more. Paying for dinner, or whatever, every time, implies I'm not an equal partner in this...venture."

Grissom breathed out, and visibly mastered his temper. "I don't consider you anything less than my equal in any venture." He managed a small smile. "Except perhaps bugs."

Relieved that he was able to find humor somewhere, Sara relaxed a little, but he went on.

"It's not just manners, Sara. I treated you badly for a long time; I know I can't really make up for it, but this is one gesture I can make." He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. "Let me finish. It gives me a great deal of pleasure to spend money on you--not in any expectation of something in return, but because it makes me happy to see you pleased."

Grissom shrugged, looking a little embarrassed at his own words, and Sara fought the heart-melting effect of them. Leaning forward, she put her hand on his two, which immediately unclasped and folded around her fingers. "I...appreciate that, Grissom. More than I can say. It means a lot to me that you feel that way. But--" She shrugged. "I like to please you too, to do things for you. If you pay for everything, when do I get a turn?"

Grissom shook his head. "You please me just with your company."

Sara sighed. If she let them, Grissom and his pretty words would talk her right out of her argument, but she wasn't going to allow it. This was too important.

She kept her voice soft, but made the tone firm. "It's only fair to let me have a turn."

Grissom pursed his lips for a long, considering moment, and Sara held still with an effort. She hated arguing with him, partly because it was unpleasant and partly out of an atavistic fear that a disagreement would send him fleeing, but there had to be some ground rules.

Then he sighed in turn, and lifted her hand to his lips to press a brief kiss to her fingertips. "As my lady wills," he said quietly, eyes twinkling a little, and she cursed him silently for turning her into a marshmallow with his absurd courtesy.

She rolled her own eyes, but couldn't help grinning, and if his humor faded slightly when she took the leather folder holding the check, she ignored it. She could be as gracious in victory as he was in defeat.

As was becoming their habit, they took a short walk after emerging from the restaurant before returning to the car. Dinners weren't their only dates, but they were often the easiest; strolling afterwards gave them a slightly more private time together before they had to return to their separate homes.

Sara wasn't ready to admit it, but she took a distinct and secret pleasure in walking with Grissom on a crowded sidewalk. It wasn't just that he tended to slip her arm through his, so that they would take up less space, it was the fact that he never seemed to notice the admiring glances thrown his way. It made her feel smug. It was selfish, it was atavistic, and she didn't care one bit.

_This might not last…but I'm going to enjoy it while it does._

**See Chapter 8**


	8. Chapter 8

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Thank you all for your kind feedback! **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"You take the front seat," Sara directed, sliding open the minivan's side door. "You're taller."

"Your legs are longer," Grissom protested, even as Sara ducked inside the vehicle, and his hindbrain admired the picture her skirt-clad backside and the aforementioned legs presented for a second before she sat down.

"Too late," she informed him cheerfully. Joey scrambled past him to sit down next to her, while Kimmy, dainty in a dress, climbed in more slowly. Grissom waited until the little girl was seated, then slid the door closed before taking the passenger seat.

The drive to the church wasn't long. Grissom listened to the children chattering and Sara's responses, feeling very odd. It had been many years since he had observed Thanksgiving with anything more than a dinner at someone else's home; the idea of going to a Thanksgiving service hadn't crossed his mind in over a decade. But when Ed had casually asked if Grissom was coming along, he had said yes--more out of startlement than anything else.

The Episcopalian church was large and relatively modern, and the pews were about half-full by the time the Sidle contingent arrived. They took up almost half a pew all by themselves, and somehow it was arranged so that Ed sat on the inside, then Kimmy, then Sara and Joseph, and Grissom on the aisle. He wasn't sure if that was deliberate on Sara's part, to give him an escape route if he needed one, but he was sure that the kids were separated on purpose. Joey was already making faces at his big sister, but as the processional began, one stern look from Sara quelled him.

Grissom wasn't surprised. He'd seen Sara's glares quell suspects who were _much _larger than Joey.

The liturgy wasn't too far off from what he had grown up with, though the interior of the sanctuary lacked many of the features of a Catholic church. Some of the songs were familiar, too, and Grissom followed along in the hymnal, though he didn't sing. It wasn't that he couldn't; it was that he liked to hear Sara sing.

She would frown down at the page, following the music with her usual fierce concentration, and he took the hymn times to observe her with his eyes as well. He liked what she was wearing--a long dark straight skirt, a black camisole and a wheat-colored jacket over the top. The sunburst necklace he'd given her for her birthday was clasped around her throat; her hair was loose and curly, and Grissom found himself sneaking peeks at her collarbones, or the shell of her ear when she tucked her hair behind it, or her hand when she laid it on Joey's shoulder. When his conscience pricked him, he reminded it that Sara was part of God's creation, and he was certainly thankful for her.

It was after the service that things got interesting.

As soon as the recessional ended, both kids were out of the pew, going to find friends. Ed started talking to someone in the pew behind them, and Sara scooped up her coat. "Schmooze time," she muttered to Grissom, though with more of an air of amusement than anything else. "Warn me if you see the organist heading this way."

"Why?" Grissom picked up his own jacket, but didn't put it on; it didn't look as though they were leaving just yet, and while half of the congregation was moving slowly towards the back door, immersed in conversation, the other half was talking without moving at all.

"She wants me to join the choir," Sara said, eyes widening in feigned horror. "Even if I had the time..."

Grissom couldn't help smiling a little. "I'll keep an eye out," he promised. It wouldn't be hard; the organist was so small and round as to be distinctive.

"Sara darling!" a female voice gushed, and Sara cringed minutely, but it wasn't the organist--it was a woman almost as tall as Sara, pushing into the pew ahead of them.

"Hi, Mrs. Porterfield," Sara said politely. Beyond Sara, Grissom saw Ed cringe a good deal more, and immediately begin edging away. "You know, I--"

The woman, who Grissom estimated was almost sixty, ran right over Sara's words. "Robby's looking for you. You don't come to church often enough, he misses you."

She reached out to put a beringed hand on Sara's arm, and Grissom saw Sara tighten with distaste, though she didn't pull back. "Well, I'll have to go find him then."

The woman didn't appear to hear the sarcasm. "He's in the back. I need to talk to your brother, you go on ahead, darling."

Ed's retreat down the pew was blocked, Grissom realized, by a young woman probably around Sara's age, who bore a marked resemblance to the older woman. Ed looked slightly panicked, but before he could catch his sister's eye, Sara turned from her accoster and made a scooting gesture at Grissom.

He complied, sliding out of the pew, and watched with fascination as the older woman bore down on Ed, whose arm was firmly taken by the younger one. "What's going on?" he asked Sara as she escaped into the aisle.

"Mrs. Porterfield and her newly divorced daughter, Trish," Sara said in a low voice, leading him towards the back of the church. "Mrs. Porterfield thinks that Ed would make a perfect second husband, and so does Trish."

"Contrary to what Ed thinks, I take it." To an observer, the situation was pretty amusing, Grissom had to admit.

"Oh, it doesn't stop there." A small feral smile had appeared on Sara's face. "She also thinks that I'm the perfect match for her son Rob."

Grissom almost tripped, alarm washing through him. "Oh?"

Sara glanced back at him, obviously amused. "Relax." She leaned in and spoke in a whisper. "He's gay. But that's a deep dark secret around here."

Reflecting on the possible congregational reactions to such news, Grissom nodded. "I see."

Rob, it turned out, was taller than Grissom, much thinner than his mother, and calm. He smiled at both of them as they met him at the back corner of the church. "Mother send you on a mission, Sara?"

She grinned up at him. "Insert 'Mission: Impossible' theme here. Rob, this is an old friend of mine, Doctor Gil Grissom. Griss, Rob Porterfield."

Rob's grip was strong. "A pleasure, Dr. Grissom."

"Likewise." The gleam in Rob's eye as they looked each other over was slightly disconcerting, but Grissom didn't let it disturb him. But before they could get into conversation, a girl of about fourteen appeared and attached herself to Sara's arm.

"Dad's looking for you!" she announced importantly. Sara rolled her eyes.

"Can it wait, Petra?"

"Nooo...he said he's afraid you'll vanish, like last time."

"I'll protect your friend, Sara," Rob cut in with amusement. "Go ahead."

Before Grissom could say anything, Sara let herself be dragged off by the eager girl. "What's that all about?" he asked, turning back to the younger man.

"The matrons are going to want to interrogate you," Rob said, still looking amused, but Grissom shook his head.

"That's not what I meant." He looked again; it took him a moment to spot Sara through the crowd. The girl had escorted her across the sanctuary, and she now stood talking with a tall and rather stooped man who wore a gentle smile.

"Oh, that." Rob chuckled. "Frank Delladesmonde's been after Sara ever since she moved here. His wife died eight years ago."

The bottom dropped out of Grissom's stomach at the genuine warmth on Sara's face as she talked with Delladesmonde. "Isn't he a little old for her?" Grissom said stiffly.

Rob shrugged. "It's never seemed to bother her. She says she has a thing for older guys."

The curl of pleasure that this statement brought was countered by dismay as Sara laughed at something the man said. Grissom's eyes narrowed as Delladesmonde patted Sara's shoulder, as Sara's arm went around the teenager at her side. _She looks happy._

In the past, he would have swallowed against the hurt, and let go, miserable but unwilling to interfere. Even now, doubt spoke up. _All she's said is that she wants us to be friends. And look at him; he's already been married. He'd know how to treat her. He's probably better for her. _

But stubbornness set in, backed by desperate longing. _Maybe he is. But **I** want her, **I** need her. And she asked me to stay. _"Excuse me," he said calmly, and stepped away from Rob.

As he approached, he could hear Petra talking about some school event, and the soft sound Sara made when she wanted to encourage a speaker. Delladesmonde's eyes were on her, warm and wistful, and Grissom wondered suddenly if his own gaze was like that--a man watching, wanting, but not having.

Grissom stepped up to Sara's unoccupied side, not too close--he didn't want to annoy her--but close enough for her to notice. Sara glanced over. "Oh, hey. Gil Grissom, Frank and Petra Delladesmonde."

Grissom didn't miss the different introduction--more casual. Delladesmonde held out one hand. "You're a friend of Sara's?"

"A very old friend," Sara said, grinning, as they shook hands. Grissom nodded at the taller man.

"A pleasure," he said politely, restraining his animosity. Delladesmonde's gaze was sharp, and Grissom figured that the other man was having suspicions equal to his own.

"Grissom was my boss when I worked in Las Vegas," Sara explained. "He's in town for a while."

"Vacation?" Delladesmonde inquired, and Grissom shrugged.

"Indefinitely," he replied. "I decided I needed to reevaluate my priorities." He glanced over at Sara, whose brows rose as she received the message.

Delledesmonde's eyes narrowed. His face bore lines of sorrow, but his dark hair was only beginning to silver. "Midlife crisis?" he asked lightly.

Grissom saw Sara's chin go up, and her indignation on his behalf soothed a great deal of his upset. "More of an overdue epiphany." He kept his tone easy. "I realized that I had lost something essential."

Delladesmonde arched a brow in turn, but before he could reply Sara broke in. "Are you going to your sister's for Thanksgiving again this year?" she asked Delladesmonde, with the air of a woman impatient with male posturing, and he turned his attention to her.

"As always. Her husband's already got the turkey on the grill by now. Are you sure I can't persuade you to come along? Trust me, it's delicious."

His grin was teasing, but Sara's return smile was a little artificial. "I told you, Frank, I'm a vegetarian. No turkey for me."

Grissom's carefully-hidden elation at the other man's blunder was tempered by the knowledge that he himself had forgotten that fact at least once, but Delladesmonde didn't seem to notice Sara's irritation. "Right. Well, maybe we can get together over Christmas?"

"Maybe," Sara answered, then glanced over her shoulder. "Oops. Better go rescue Ed. Good to see you, Frank."

With a round of polite farewells, the Delladesmondes moved off, and Sara headed back towards her beleaguered brother, who was looking pretty desperate with Trish on one side and Mrs. Porterfield on the other. Grissom let one hand rest lightly on the small of Sara's back, and glanced over his shoulder; as he'd intended, Delladesmonde had turned back and seen the gesture. Grissom sent him a warning look.

The other man's shoulders straightened, but he only looked back coolly before bending down to answer some inquiry from his daughter.

"Isn't he a little old for you?" Grissom murmured as they made their way back through the sanctuary. Sara snorted.

"You think so? Grissom, he's four years younger than you."

_Oh._ Grissom decided that the best thing to do in this situation was to keep his mouth shut. The amused glance from Sara told him that silence was probably a good choice.

**x**

Thanksgiving with the Sidles was…fun. Grissom couldn't recall when he'd last shared a Thanksgiving meal with anyone besides his mother, and those events were naturally quiet. On returning to the townhouse, they'd split--Sara and Ed to change and the kids to watch the parade on TV. Joey, whose shyness had long since faded, hauled Grissom into the living room and made him sit on the couch so that Joey could lean against him and chatter while they watched. Grissom found himself more amused by this than anything else.

Both the Sidle children were cuddlers, he'd noticed, and both seemed slightly younger, emotionally, than their ages would indicate. But he put it down to the traumatic loss of their mother, and Ed's subsequent depression. Sara had only given Grissom a synopsis of that time, but his imagination was sufficient to fill in the blanks.

The two kids had accepted Grissom fairly quickly as part of the landscape--not as close as Gracie, but one of the people around whom guest behavior was not required except at the table, like a couple of Ed's colleagues. He could imagine the categories they might use to define him; _good for questions, _for instance, or _won't play board games._

Ed reappeared before Sara, and whipped into the kitchen. "Is there anything I can do?" Grissom called after him, and when no answer was forthcoming, he rose and followed, leaving the kids to the floats and bands.

Ed had wrapped a burgundy apron around his skinny frame; instead of "Kiss the Cook," it had a Shakespeare quote--"Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent," which made Grissom smile. The elder Sidles weren't like anyone else.

"Sara's taking a nap," Ed said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a medium-sized turkey.

"And you're going to sneak that in while she's asleep?" Grissom asked, bemused. He approved of the nap; Sara had been working late all week and was looking a little worn.

Ed snickered. "Nope. This is for the rest of us. The kids want a traditional dinner on Thanksgiving." He dropped the bird onto the counter with a thud and jerked his head back at the fridge. "She's got some kind of portobello mushroom crap in there for herself." Ed, who loathed mushrooms, shuddered dramatically, and Grissom had to laugh.

It came to him then, as it occasionally did, that he laughed much more around Sara's family than he had anywhere else in the past three years, and probably even before that. "What can I do?" he repeated.

"Well, you can start the rolls if you like, and then you can go upstairs and make sure Sara's actually sleeping," Ed said. "I wouldn't put it past her to give it five minutes, declare she can't sleep, and get up to do work."

Which told Grissom that the nap had probably been Ed's idea. "I'll do that. Where's the recipe?"

It didn't take long to assemble the ingredients, but when Grissom glanced back over at Ed, he saw the younger man staring rather helplessly at the bird. A squashy parcel next to the turkey showed that he'd remembered to remove the extra bits, but other than that he seemed at a loss.

Grissom bit the inside of his lip to suppress his smile. "Everything okay?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.

Ed's mouth twisted. "I have no idea what to do with this thing," he said, looking like a man just encountering the truth. "Jenny always handled this part of it."

Grissom wondered what the family had done the past few years, but didn't ask. "Well, cleaning and stuffing it is the next step," he pointed out gently. "I used to stuff the turkey for my mother; want to switch?"

Ed's chin firmed with a look of determination. "Why don't you teach me?" he demanded, more than asked, and Grissom saw another Sidle trait come out, the desire to learn.

Well, he did love to teach. Grissom looked at the small bag of packaged stuffing, and raised a brow. "Okay, but we're going to do it _right. _Here, you finish this while I get the ingredients."

Ed acceded, mixing the dough for the rolls and watching with fascination as Grissom pulled together onions, herbs, butter, celery, and the stale bread that the Sidles used to make crumbs for breading. Before too long, the dough was rising and Grissom had Ed sautéing the onions in the butter. Normally, Grissom would have added mushrooms as well, but knowing Ed's aversion, he refrained. As they put the stuffing together, Grissom also taught him how to cook some on the side so that Sara could have a share as well, untainted by fowl.

Ed was as eager a student as Sara, Grissom found, and by the time they had stuffed the turkey and set it in the oven, he felt closer to Sara's big brother. The man had a sharp wit and a strong sense of humor, and no qualms about laughing at his own ignorance. "What about your parents?" he asked, as they washed their hands after shutting the oven door.

Grissom blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Ed shrugged, snagging a dishtowel to dry his hands. "You don't usually spend the holidays with them? Not that we're not glad to have you," he added.

Grissom finished rinsing his hands and shut off the water. "Well, I work most holidays, but my mother and I usually try to get together around Christmas. I might fly out to see her this year, since I won't be on call." As it was, he hadn't really planned that far in advance.

"Well, you're welcome to join us if you don't," Ed said cheerfully, passing him the towel and not asking why Grissom hadn't mentioned his father. "Do you want to check on Sara or should I do it?"

Grissom, bemused by the casual invitation, gathered his thoughts. "I'll do it." He hung up the towel carefully and headed for the stairs.

He hadn't been above the townhouse's main floor yet. The bedrooms were above, he knew, but Sara had explained that she had the top floor to herself; it had apparently been Jenny's painting studio, and had gone unused after her death until it was decided that Sara was staying.

Grissom wasn't sure what to expect, but when he moved quietly up the last flight he found one big dormer room. The skylights let in only a grey light, since the day was overcast, and Sara had pulled the shades, but those were half-noticed details. His focus was immediately drawn to her.

Despite Ed's prediction, she was asleep on the wide bed, lying on her side with one hand palm-up near her head. She looked smaller, younger, vulnerable; Grissom found himself blinking again against a rush of tenderness and yearning. He stepped closer, drawn across the thick carpet at the sight of her; fully dressed in her camisole and a pair of slacks, with a corner of the comforter drawn over her middle and her birthday lizard sitting guard at the headboard. Her feet, in stockings, made him want to sit down and pull them into his lap.

He wasn't sure how many minutes he stood there staring, but it finally dawned on Grissom that he was trespassing, and that it would not do his suit good for Sara to wake and find him there. But before he could bring himself to turn away, her eyes opened.

He braced himself, but she only blinked sleepily. "Gil," she said, her voice croaking a little. "...Ed send you?"

Grissom, slightly startled by the sound of his first name on her lips, found his tongue. "Yes, he wanted me to make sure you were sleeping."

Sara gave a little nodding jerk of her head, and pulled the comforter up a bit more. She didn't look mad, and Grissom flexed his hands, uncertain of what to do.

"You can sit down," she said, and yawned, muffling her mouth with one hand. As much as he wanted to take the edge of the bed, Grissom opted for the plumply cushioned chair next to it, and sat gingerly, only now really seeing the room.

It was open and airy, and yet almost cluttered with objects--another chair, a dresser and desk, clothes draped here and there and a small bookshelf overflowing with books. Two paintings had pride of place on the wall; Grissom knew now that all the canvases in the house were the work of Jenny, and were quite good. A poster showing the structure of the atom took up more wall space, and he noted absently a scattering of other, smaller lizards of various shapes and colors. The room felt like Sara's apartment had when he'd visited it three years ago, if lighter in coloring; cozy and welcoming and very like Sara.

Sara yawned again. "Tell me a story," she said, still sounding half-asleep.

Grissom looked back to her, startled. "What?"

She grinned at him, looking both sleepy and mischievous. "Tell me a story. I want to see what kind of stories you know."

It was an absurd request, but somehow in this quiet sanctuary of hers it seemed perfectly normal. A hundred possibilities tumbled through Grissom's head, ranging from his adventures as a junior coroner to a few dirty jokes, but none of them suited this one moment. He went back further, to one of the books he'd treasured as a child--one of the few that wasn't about bugs--and smiled, suddenly feeling confident.

Leaning back comfortably, he recited it as best he could, keeping his voice low and soothing. It was an old fairy tale, of a wicked sorcerer who stole girls away in his magic cloak and the resourceful young woman who stopped him; for some reason always been his favorite. _Perhaps because of the justice meted out to the magician._

By the time he was finished, Sara was asleep again, and Grissom was pleased that he'd managed to soothe her back into slumber. He was very tempted to stay just where he was and watch her sleep, but instead he rose carefully, restraining the desire to brush her hair from her face or tuck the comforter in more closely around her.

Or to climb into the bed with her, and just hold her.

Instead, Grissom left as quietly as he'd come, returning to watch the tail-end of the parade with the kids and then punch down the dough for the rolls. And to realize that his first name had never sounded so good.

**x**

The smell of savory things woke Sara, and she stretched luxuriously, contemplating nothing more serious than dinner. It took a few minutes for the memory of Grissom to return, and then she couldn't decide whether to be pleased or embarrassed about asking him for a story. _What am I, five?_

Yet he hadn't seemed anything but surprised; he'd just thought a moment, then begun a tale about some evil guy who lived in a forest. Sara had to admit that she couldn't remember most of the story. _Maybe...maybe someday I can get him to tell it again. _

A strange thought, but an interesting one.

She took her time about washing her face and brushing her hair, enjoying the momentary peace of solitude, and then followed her nose downstairs.

The house was full of the scent of roasting turkey, and Sara was thankful that the smell itself didn't nauseate her. In fact, it reminded her comfortably of the past few years, when she and Ed and the kids had gone to Jenny's family for Thanksgiving. The meals had been tinged with sorrow, but still warm with family; but this year Jenny's parents had gone south to Atlanta for the winter.

Sara found Ed and Grissom occupying either end of the couch, watching the football game, with Kimmy in the middle rooting for the team with the lower score. Joseph, who was exclusively a soccer fan, was playing with his Matchbox cars at the other end of the big room.

Habit moved Sara to lean over the back of the couch and ruffle her brother's hair. "Who's winning?"

Ed ducked automatically. "The guys in blue." He was scarcely more of a football enthusiast than his son, but tended to watch the holiday game for tradition's sake.

"They're eight points ahead," Kimmy added seriously, never taking her eyes from the screen.

Sara grinned at Grissom, and caught a faint hint of wistfulness on his face, an expression that vanished as he returned her smile. It puzzled her, but she didn't pursue it.

"Anything I can do?" she asked her brother, who tilted his head back to look at her.

"How long is your fungus going to take?"

"To bake? About forty-five minutes." The casserole was already prepared and waiting in the fridge.

"Then you've got..." He glanced at the wall clock. "...About an hour before it has to go in. I hereby relinquish responsibility."

Accustomed to her brother's contempt for all things mushroom, Sara just nodded. "Got it."

Ed stood up slowly and stretched, turning his head to pop his neck. "And on that note, I am off to reacquaint myself with my sterling piecrust skills. Disturb me not, if you want pumpkin later." He stalked off towards the kitchen.

Sara immediately dropped into the space he'd left, and Kimmy promptly scooted sideways so she could lean against Sara's chest. Sara lifted one leg onto the couch and braced her back against the armrest for the familiar cuddle.

Grissom raised a brow at her. "'Disturb me not'?"

Sara shrugged, and began combing her fingers through Kimmy's straight black hair. "Ed thinks he's a genius when it comes to baking--"

"_Knows _he's a genius, thank you," drifted out of the kitchen, and Sara rolled her eyes, snickering.

"--And he _thinks the pies will be ruined if we bug him!_" she half-shouted back.

Grissom chuckled, and Kimmy sighed exaggeratedly. "He's a very good baker," she said with the air of one showing great tolerance, "but he's kinda weird."

Grissom pursed his lips. "Well, if leaving him alone is what it takes for good pies..."

"He lets us help with cookies," Kimmy confided. "Does your dad do stuff in the kitchen?"

Sara, startled, saw Grissom go very still at the girl's question, but a breath later he relaxed deliberately. "I don't know," he said calmly. "My mom and dad divorced when I was five."

_...Whoa._ Sara kept her jaw from dropping, but she was floored by the information; Grissom had never said much at all about his family in her hearing. _That was way before divorces were acceptable. Wow. _

Kimmy, child of an era when they _were_ acceptable, eyed him curiously but without surprise. "You lived with your mom?"

Grissom nodded, and Kimmy, apparently satisfied, turned back to the TV. Grissom met Sara's eyes over the girl's head, and she was a little surprised herself when he didn't turn away. She returned his gaze, not trying to convey pity or even sympathy, but rather an acknowledgment of the privacy of what he'd just revealed.

He gave her a tiny, quiet smile, and then returned his attention to the game. Oddly satisfied, Sara did the same.

Twenty minutes later, when Grissom--without looking away from a field goal attempt--pulled her foot to rest against his thigh, his hand resting casually on her ankle, satisfaction wasn't uppermost in her mind. The move made her aware of him with every nerve, not just those registering the warmth of his leg against her sole or the weight of his hand on her foot.

And on reflection, she let it stay, another silent acknowledgment, until the doorbell rang and Kimmy sprang off the couch to answer the door.

Sara rose to follow her, leaning over the stairwell banister to smile at their visitor. "Hey, Gracie, how's it going?"

The housekeeper grinned back and tugged a watchcap off her head, letting red curls spill down over the collar of her coat. "It's sleeting out there."

"Great." Sara rolled her eyes as Gracie and Kimmy came up to the main floor.

Kimmy insisted on taking Gracie's coat and hat, even though the housekeeper seemed a little uneasy at the formality, but she waved at Grissom, who had stood as well. "Hey, Doctor G."

Grissom, who had risen at Gracie's entrance, nodded back. "It's nice to see you again."

Kimmy plopped back down on the couch, but Sara jerked a thumb at the kitchen. "Ed's in there."

Gracie nodded and vanished into Ed's sanctuary, and Grissom shot Sara a cockeyed look. "Didn't he want to be undisturbed?"

Sara grinned evilly. "Yep." They sat back down again with Kimmy between them, but the girl was too absorbed in the screen to cuddle. "She's probably the one person in the world he won't chase out."

Grissom considered this for a moment, resting one arm along the back of the sofa. "You're willing to risk a ruined pie?" he teased at last, and Sara smirked.

"You brought a pecan one. That should hold us if he does ruin 'em."

Grissom snorted, acceding, and they turned their attention to the fourth quarter.

It was still an uncommon situation for Sara, to be relaxing with so little to occupy her mind, and even rarer to be doing it in Grissom's presence, but it was definitely enjoyable.

Dinner took a long time, opening with a slightly more elaborate grace than usual, and proceeding with everyone stuffing themselves as full as the bird. Both Grissom and Gracie were relaxed, Sara noted, approving the way that Grissom seemed to be feeling at home. He glanced at her for permission before helping himself to a little of her casserole, and lobbed rolls to Joey and Ed when requested, making everyone laugh. The kids had set the table, and Kimmy had apparently arranged the seating to suit herself, with Ed at the head of the table and herself in between Sara and Gracie. Joey was between Grissom and Ed, which Sara had to admit at least kept the children from poking each other.

After dinner and some sporadic cleanup, Joey started pestering his father to go outside and kick a soccer ball around. Seeing that Ed really wanted to stay in and talk with Gracie, Sara volunteered in his place, and found herself towed outside in short order.

The sleet had stopped, and there was still some light left. Despite her full stomach, Sara followed Joey out to the parking area in front of the townhouse, and they began passing the ball back and forth. Joey was full of energy, but Sara convinced him to take it easy at first while she got warmed up.

For a little while they kicked in silence, dodging back and forth to capture the ball, but then Joey spoke up with a six-year-old's abruptness. "Are you going to marry Doctor G?"

Sara nearly choked, but managed to send the ball back with a firm boot. "Joey, that's not a polite question."

His eye-roll told her that he didn't care. Sara thought a moment, realizing that he was probably motivated by self-interest as much as curiosity. Aunt Sara was a stabilizing influence in his life, and probably far more real than the mother he could only remember blurrily. Any major change in her life would affect her nephew.

On the other hand, she had no desire to try to explain their tangled relationship to someone whose understanding of romance was limited to "happily ever after" and the exchange of cartoon valentines in February. "I don't know."

Joey shot her a skeptical look, but evidently decided that she wasn't just putting him off. The imp of the perverse seized her, and she fielded the ball and gave him a speculative look back. "Do you think I should?"

Joey made a thinking face and was quiet for a moment, catching the ball as she passed it back and rolling it under one foot while he pondered. "Yeah," he said at last.

Sara bit the inside of her cheek to keep back a smile. "How come?"

Her nephew picked up the ball. "He's got lots of money," he pointed out practically, and Sara bit harder. "And he really really likes you."

He punted the ball in practiced goalie fashion, making Sara dart for it and bat it down with her arm. "How do you know?"

His stare this time was a visual "duh". "He's always watching you. All the time."

Which meant nothing specific on the surface, Sara knew, but she could fill in the blanks for the observations that Joey didn't have the words for.

"I'll keep it in mind," she told him solemnly, and that seemed to satisfy him.

Eventually it got too dark to continue, and they trooped back inside with rosy cheeks to sit down to a table full of pastry. Despite the interruption, Ed had performed his usual miracles with piecrust, and Grissom's bakery offering was almost as good; Gracie had brought her traditional baklava as well, which was Sara's first choice. It was a holiday, and so Ed declared a moratorium on limits, and they all stuffed themselves again.

Sara half-expected that the adults would retire to the family room to talk, but Grissom excused himself with a look of regret. "I have to go home and call my mother."

"You can use our phone," Ed offered, but Grissom shook his head and shot Sara a slightly wary look.

"She's Deaf. I need to use a TTY."

Sara blinked. _She's--ohh. Now **that** explains a few things._

"What's a TTY?" Kimmy asked before Sara could respond.

"It's a device that lets Deaf people use the telephone," Grissom explained. "It has a keyboard like a typewriter, and a little screen."

Kimmy looked less than impressed. "Why don't you just IM each other?"

Gracie opened her mouth, but Grissom's lips twitched and he answered before she could admonish the girl. "Sometimes we do, but Mom likes the TTY better. And we don't have to have a computer to use it."

"Oh." That apparently made sense, and Kimmy dropped her interrogation.

Bemused, Sara went downstairs to get Grissom's jacket from the closet, and felt him come up behind her, a big warm presence that managed to wake all her nerves again. "Are you mad at me?" he asked quietly.

She held still, savoring the sensation, and considered his question. "No," she said finally.

The tingle on the back of her neck was light, and Sara realized that he was touching her hair where it lay on her nape and shoulders. "I didn't tell you."

That was true, but… "Grissom, it wasn't any of my business, before." She held back the shrug, afraid of scaring away his feathery stroke. "If you'd tried to keep it a secret _now,_ yeah, I'd be pissed."

He breathed a laugh, and dropped his hand. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sara grinned a little, and pulled his jacket from the hanger, turning to hand it to him.

"Are you going to kiss?" inquired a childish voice from above.

As one, they looked up. Kimmy was hanging over the stairwell banister, looking down at them; Joey was peering through the spindles.

Sara felt her cheeks flush, but before she could muster a reprimand, Grissom turned back to her. Unwillingly fascinated, she watched one of his brows go up in a clear challenge.

She never could resist a challenge.

It was only a quick, chaste press, but the soft smoothness of his lips brushing over hers warmed her all through, and she clenched her hand firmly at her side rather than allowing it to curve around his neck. Judging from the shaken breath he drew, Grissom had much the same reaction.

With an effort, Sara cocked her head to look up at her small relations. Joseph was making a face, but Kimmy looked gravely pleased. "Satisfied?" Sara asked dryly.

Her niece nodded; Joey vanished, but she remained. Sara thought about chasing her off, but decided that it would just attract Ed's attention. "Say hi to your mom for me," she told Grissom, only half-joking, and he gave her a one-sided smile.

"I will."

He took his jacket from her fingers, and then he was gone, and she didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

**See Chapter 9**


	9. Chapter 9

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The short winter daylight was gone, but Grissom didn't realize it, deep as he was in trying to identify and catalogue a surprisingly well-preserved Victorian-era collection of moths. He was musing industrial melanism and the peculiarities of nineteenth-century scientific dabbling when his phone rang, and he looked at the incoming number only long enough to determine that he didn't recognize it. "Grissom."

"Uh…hi."

"Greg?" Grissom asked in astonishment, glancing at his watch. It was late on the East Coast, but in Vegas Greg's shift had not yet begun. "Starting work early?"

"No, I just wanted to say hi. Hi." Greg sounded uncharacteristically nervous.

"Hello, Greg," Grissom said patiently, then wondered why his CSI was calling. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just--we haven't heard from you in a while." Greg's voice was plaintive, but Grissom detected a hint of accusation as well.

It was true, Grissom realized; Abdul had called twice for advice on cases, and Greg once to ask an evidence-related question, but at least a month had gone by since Grissom had done more than type a brief answer to an e-mail.

"I'm fine," he said, a little surprised that the impromptu phone call did not annoy him. "How are things at the lab?"

That proved the right question to ask; Greg launched into an involved description of the latest cases, laced with opinion, commentary, and jokes. _Sara was right,_ Grissom admitted as he sorted moths and made encouraging noises. _He is fun to listen to._ He'd spent so many years trying to work around Greg's enduring zaniness that he'd never stopped to actually pay attention to it.

Eventually the younger man wound down. "So what are you up to these days?" he demanded, sounding much more confident.

The thousands of miles between them, and the lack of a visual, made it easier for Grissom to reveal something personal. "At the moment, I'm cataloguing insects for a museum." He carefully kept back the name of the museum.

"Hey, bugs for the bugman." The cheer in Greg's voice faded a little. "Um, Grissom…are you coming back?"

Grissom flinched a little, not so much from surprise as from the fact that the question cut to the heart of his own uncertainty like the blade of a sword. Knowing that the most likely scenario for his permanent return would be defeat, he stuck to the straight truth; one way or another, he would have to go back to deal with the life he'd put on hold there. "Eventually. My leave of absence is for six months, you know that."

"Yeah, but you've never done anything like this before." A faint sound came through, as though Greg had gulped a little. "We kinda miss you, you know."

The awkward, half-shy statement hit Grissom with a flood of almost painful warmth. In a vague, intellectual way, he had known that his CSIs would feel the absence of their boss, but he simply hadn't thought of it outside the context of schedule shifts and possible promotions.

In Greg's uncomfortable voice was the inescapable fact that _he _was missed--Grissom the man, not just the enigmatic entomologist who ran the night shift. Catherine's words from years ago, about family, ran through his head, and he felt another sharp pang at the thought that, should his suit succeed, he would very likely have to leave his friends behind.

But he put it aside for the moment, focusing instead on his protégé, whose lively soul he had sometimes envied. "I 'kind of' miss you guys too," he replied, a bit embarrassed but honest.

Greg asked a few questions about Grissom's new life, but nothing too probing; Grissom, aware that Greg knew Sara's address, wondered if the younger man was being tactful or discreet.

"Well, I gotta go," Greg said eventually. "Gen and I are catching dinner before shift."

"Sounds good." Grissom's stomach rumbled a little, reminding him that it had been a long time since lunch, but he ignored it for the moment. "Tell Catherine to remember that the forms for the criminalists' convention in March have to be in by the end of the year."

"I'll do that." Greg hesitated again. "Talk to you later?"

"Absolutely," Grissom said. "Greg…thank you for calling."

And he meant it.

**xxxx**

The first snow of the season came early and heavy, skipping the usual dusting to dump a good four inches on Washington and its environs one Friday. True to form, the school system promptly shut down, and Ed took the day off to keep an eye on his offspring.

Grissom had gotten into the habit of spending weekends with Sara when neither of them had to work, as well as a couple of weeknights; half the time they took off on their own, but the rest of the time they hung out with Sara's family, something that Grissom would not have expected to enjoy. However, he found he looked forward to it almost as much as his private dates with Sara. Ed was as whip-smart as Sara, if more abstracted; Joseph and Kimmy were reasonably well-behaved, and were always asking him questions--mostly about science--that he was happy to answer.

So when he found himself sucked into the preparation for a Sidle snow day that Saturday, Grissom went along without hesitation, though with some bemusement. "You missed the snow treats," Kimmy informed him within moments of his arrival.

"Snow treats?" he asked, pulling off his gloves but not bothering to take off his jacket.

"You can only do it when it's fresh snow," Kimmy explained as Joey dashed past with a pair of snowboots and a loud demand that Sara help him put them on. "You take snow from the bushes, so you know it's clean--" Grissom bit his tongue. "--And you pour maple syrup on top and eat it."

"Like a snow cone?" he offered gravely, and she nodded.

"Yeah, 'cept it's in the winter."

"Old family tradition," Sara supplied from the other side of the family room, where she was tugging Joseph's boots onto his feet. Given that she and Ed had grown up near San Francisco, where snow was a once-in-a-century event, Grissom surmised that the tradition came from Jenny's family.

"Sara, have you seen my scarf?" Ed asked distractedly, loping down the stairs from the upper floor.

"It's in your office, along with your gloves," she replied, rolling her eyes a little. "Right where you left them when you came in yesterday."

"Thanks." Ed ruffled her hair as he passed, and dodged her return swat without even looking. Sara stood up, sighing.

"One thing about CSIs, they usually remember where they left their heads. All set, kiddo."

Joey ran off again, clumping, to fetch his coat. "Was he always so absent-minded?" Grissom asked, once again both amused and warmed by the family's antics.

"Who, Ed?" Sara walked over to Grissom and slipped her arms around him in an unexpected hug, and he closed his own around her, thrilled. "He used to be _worse._ Only guy I knew who could forget where he parked his car."

"That happens to everyone, from time to time," Grissom objected mildly, letting go with some reluctance as Sara stepped away.

"Yeah, but on his own street? He was trying to unlock the neighbor's Dodge because he had his nose stuck in a book."

"I heard that," Ed said with mock indignation, emerging from his study in a peacoat and a knit scarf that Grissom estimated had to be at least half again as long as the scientist was tall. "Want me to tell him about the time you thought there was a hammerhead lurking in the bay?"

"I was _five,_ Eddie." Sara looked down her nose at her brother as she pulled on a watchcap. "I was entitled."

Grissom held in his laughter at the siblings' genial bickering, and joined in as the Sidles exploded into the snowy world. Their sleds were waiting for them in the garage, and the kids insisted on carrying their own, even though the bulk of the inflatable disk had Joey struggling a little.

The townhouse complex included a slope suitable for sledding, and they headed up it, carefully avoiding the packed-down sled trails already etched into the snow. Halfway up the gentle hill, Ed pulled Joey's sled from his hand and passed it to Sara, then swung his son up and into a piggyback carry, saving him from wading.

Ed had to go down with Joey the first couple of rides, the little boy sitting snugly in the wrap of his father's arms and legs, but after that his courage grew. Sara insisted on at least one turn out of four, and Grissom greatly enjoyed the sight of her skimming down the slope, whooping. She spilled at the end of her first run, which made the kids shriek and Grissom flinch, but she rolled to her feet and waved happily.

"Do you want a turn, Doctor G?" Kimmy asked eventually, in a dutiful tone. He looked down at the fat doughnut-shaped cushion that had already borne her more than a dozen times that morning.

"No, thank you. I think I'm a little too big for your sled."

"Daddy goes," she pointed out logically, and Ed, panting from his latest trek back up the hill, chimed in.

"Oh, come on, man. It's fun!" He waved expansively at the hill, which was almost the same color as the overcast sky.

Grissom shook his head. "I'll just watch."

Courtesy fulfilled, Kimmy flung herself onto the sled for another run; Ed unwound a few feet of scarf, still puffing. "You have nothing to lose but Mr. Dignity."

Grissom snorted. "'Our dignity is not in what we do, but what we understand.' I think I'll still pass, though."

"Did enough of it when you were younger?" Ed waved again, this time at his son, who was starting back up the hill.

Grissom was wearing gloves, but he'd put his hands in his pockets anyway; it was quite cold enough to keep the snow from melting. "Actually, I've never sledded in my life."

It did look kind of fun, reminding him a little of a rollercoaster, but Grissom wasn't about to try it. _I'd probably fall off halfway down._

Ed shrugged. "Just wait 'til you have kids. Dignity goes right out the window." He backed up a couple of yards, then ran at the hill, schussbooming down on the soles of his boots and yelling at the top of his lungs. Grissom, amused, wondered if Ed had had any dignity to begin with. _Maybe he left it all to his sister._

Not that Sara, sitting splay-legged in the snow laughing, was displaying much at the moment. The sight made Grissom grin. _What am I doing up here?_

He made his way carefully down the hill, watching as Kimmy balled up a handful of snow and flung it at her father. Her aim was fairly good, and she caught him on the shoulder, prompting a roar and retaliation. Sara scrambled up, and the next thing Grissom knew, everyone was throwing.

Somehow Grissom found himself on the kids' team, hurling snowballs at Ed and Sara, though he would much rather have been on Sara's side. But all that baseball, though years behind him, stood him in good stead; he knew he'd be sore the next day, but pasting Ed in the face with one pitch--much to his offspring's howling glee--and with the next scoring a direct hit on Sara's rear end was rather ego-boosting. Her open-mouthed look of surprise made him laugh out loud, and when she exploded into a giggling fury of throws that made him duck, he could only laugh harder.

It felt incredibly good.

Eventually they wound down; everyone was snowy to the eyebrows, and Ed had lost his scarf in the rumpus. He was overseeing the making of snow angels when Sara put her mittened hand in Grissom's. "Up for a walk?"

They headed back to the townhouse and past it. The fight had pushed Sara's hat back on her head, and her hair was curling wildly, starred with snow; her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed, and Grissom didn't even think about it. He just tugged her to a stop, put one gloved hand to her cheek, and kissed her.

Slow, and cold, and sweet. Their lips slid against each other so gently that Grissom's heart lurched; the tiny sigh Sara let out when their mouths parted made Grissom's other hand tighten on hers with the effort of not kissing her again.

Their exhalations plumed in the cold air, and for once Grissom could actually _see _their breaths mingling, and he drew in a lungful just so he could contain some of hers. Sara smiled, and he let the air go; she pulled on his hand, and he dropped his arm and fell into place next to her as she began to walk again.

And it was all right.

They wandered for a while, holding hands, seeing kids out making snowpeople or pulling sleds. Eventually it began to snow again, gently, clumps of flakes spiraling down from the unfocused sky.

"So…I was thinking…" Sara said eventually, sounding unusually hesitant.

"Mm?" Grissom squeezed her hand a little.

"Turns out Jenny's parents are having everyone down to Atlanta for a week around Christmas." She kicked idly at a lump of snow as they passed it. "I'm not going."

"Why not?" Grissom asked, curious.

"I don't know most of them…it would just be weird, Grissom."

He squeezed her hand again at the defensiveness in her voice. "That makes sense." He could understand very well the reluctance to be cooped up with virtual strangers for seven days.

Sara sighed. "So anyway. Do you…um, do you want to spend Christmas with me?"

Grissom's head swam a little. He was stunned and delighted at the request; the fact that she was so awkward about asking told him that it meant a lot to her. But he was also overwhelmed with regret.

"Sara…"

Her fingers spasmed, and then let go. "Damn! I'm sorry, Griss, I shouldn't have--"

"_No._" He caught her arm before she could step away, and they halted on the sidewalk as Grissom swung her around to face him. Sara's cheeks were flushed, with cold or embarrassment, and her eyes wouldn't quite meet his. "I'd love to spend Christmas with you, Sara, more than you know. But I already promised my mother I'd go out to see her." Just two days before, in fact, and he cursed his timing.

"Oh." She blinked, and grimaced as his words sank in. "Well, don't I feel like a total idiot."

Grissom laughed, and lifted his hand to cup her cheek, earning a rueful look. "You're not an idiot. My track record isn't exactly glowing."

Sara rubbed her face against his glove, her smile making his breath catch in his throat. "Grissom, you may have been a slow starter, but there's nothing wrong with your record now."

She leaned forward and caught his lips in a brief kiss that did more to warm him than any jacket, then tucked her arm through his. "Let's go find some cocoa or something."

Grissom let her lead him along. An idea was unfolding in his head, something he would never have considered before, but that seemed perfect now. _Christmas, indeed._

He didn't leave the Sidles until after dinner was over; Sara gave him another quick kiss at the door, and while the temptation to hold her still and make something more of it was nearly overwhelming, Grissom restrained himself. It was still her ball game, in a sense.

He got into his car with his mouth still tingling, and was halfway out of the townhouse complex when another idea hit him. It was silly; it was _absurd._ But--

Grissom parked the car, and went to the trunk, where he kept a number of useful items for consultations; not everyone who called him out to a crime scene was foresightful enough to keep an extra kit on hand. His boxful of supplies included a number of large plastic trash bags.

It was late enough that the slope was deserted, but the heavy clouds reflected light, and the whole world was a sort of glowing blue-grey--there was plenty of light. Grissom, bag in hand, trudged to the top of the hill and looked down.

Part of him was insisting that he was about to make a fool of himself. Another part pointed out practically that there was no one to see. Grissom hesitated, then shook out the bag and spread it on the ground at the top of the slope. He'd seen kids do this in Minnesota before, but he'd never tried it.

Sitting down on the bag, he folded his legs, then hitched himself forward rather awkwardly. It took a couple of tries, but then the bag began to slide on the packed snow, and took him with it.

There were definite similarities to a rollercoaster, Grissom realized--the same helplessness and speed--but most rollercoasters didn't have lumps in the middle. Still, rushing downhill in the cold and the dim raised almost the same primitive joy in him, the same adrenaline push, and he slid to a stop at the bottom and found himself grinning wildly. He didn't _think_ he'd whooped.

He wasn't thinking forensically, however. The next day, when Ed barricaded himself in his study to chase an idea and Sara took the kids out for a morning of sledding, she realized that the distinctive bootprints at the end of one slide trail were nowhere near the snowball fight of the day before.

She just grinned.

**xxxx**

The staff knew her by now, and that familiarity combined with her FBI badge got her into the Natural History museum even as the guards were securing the doors for the night. Sara waved at the docent tidying her desk, and skirted the dais-mounted elephant, and wove her way back through the dimmed corridors and shadowy displays to a locked service door. Normally she would knock, but one of the curators was just leaving, and he held it open for her. "Running a little late tonight," he commented cheerfully.

Sara winked as she slid past him; the man was a little shorter than she, and bald as an egg, and brilliant; she liked him. "Hey, it's Friday. No school tomorrow."

He snorted in agreement, and let the door close between them.

Unlike the public areas of the museum, the workrooms were immensely cluttered, the inevitable result of more specimens and projects than space to store them. Rumor had it, Grissom had told her with a chuckle, that the mass of the items in storage had created a gravitational anomaly and that there was more stored in the work area than there was room for, and Sara had rolled her eyes and refrained from explaining just why that was impossible.

She strode past various cubicles and offices and workbenches, about half of which still had people at them, working on anything from fossils to clothing restoration to paperwork, and made her way back to the corner table that served as Grissom's space. He was there, of course, bent over a microscope and studying something with such concentration that he didn't seem to notice her approach.

Sara paused for a moment, just to enjoy the sight of him. Grissom had been back in her life for just over three months, and she still was sometimes taken by surprise that he was there again. Now he looked to her as though he was in the Vegas lab, despite the absence of a lab coat; alternating between staring through the microscope and making notes, completely the dedicated scientist even though his specimens were more than twice his age instead of alive and creeping. The silver of his hair gleamed a little in the light, and Sara wanted to go wrap her arms around his waist and peer over his shoulder.

However, she did know what it was like to be startled when using a microscope, and rubbed the bridge of her nose absently at the memory, choosing instead to clear her throat.

Grissom didn't look up, but she saw him smile. "Hello, Sara."

She smirked. It was hard to sneak up on him. "Hey, Doc, buy a girl a drink?"

He straightened, and gave her a teasing look. "I usually buy manly drinks, but I'm sure I can handle a girly drink."

She snickered at his pun. "Shut up or I'll get you a Silk Panties."

One brow went up, and his eyes glinted. "Is that an offer?"

It had been so long since they flirted, and they never had quite so blatantly. It made Sara's stomach tingle with delight, at least until the tingle turned into an audible growl. They both laughed, and the sweet tension eased again.

"Food, Gil," she insisted. "Even you have to eat on occasion."

Grissom made one last note and removed the slide in the microscope before powering it down. "I thought that was my line."

"It was. I stole it." Sara was tempted to kiss him again as he came around the table, but decided it was a little too dangerous at the moment. Grissom picked up the container of slides he'd been examining and put them away in a neatly organized cabinet, then snagged his jacket from a battered hatstand in the corner. "What are you hungry for?"

Grissom shrugged into the garment. "Dr. Fordman in Paleontology says that there's a great sushi place within walking distance."

Sara gaped at him. "You eat sushi?"

He looked back, raising both brows this time. "You don't?"

She shook herself. "Yeah, I do, I just--you don't seem the type."

Grissom placed a hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her towards the exit. "Assume nothing."

The air was cold when they stepped outside, and Sara automatically buttoned her coat, opened in the warmer atmosphere of the museum. "When did you start eating sushi?" she persisted.

Grissom shrugged. "Long before it became trendy." He seemed to think for a moment, then added, "I had a Japanese housemate when I got out of college."

Almost without thinking about it, Sara slipped her gloved hand into his, and felt his fingers lace between hers and hold firmly. "Japanese, or Japanese-American?"

He chuckled. "The former, but quickly evolving into the latter. He ate burgers and pizza most of the time, just like me, but once he dragged me out to a local sushi restaurant. I was the only _gaijin_ in the place." He was smiling a little, Sara saw; apparently the memory was a fond one. "He thought it would gross me out, but he hadn't taken into account that I already ate insects as snacks."

She had to laugh at that. "What prompted him to make you eat sushi?" Grissom didn't answer, but she saw his cheeks flushing a little deeper than the cold would indicate, and grinned with the insight. "You lost a bet, didn't you?"

His mouth quirked. "Baseball is a beautiful game, but one should not depend entirely on statistics."

Sara laughed harder, and Grissom squeezed her hand. She remembered the last time he'd spoken of baseball, and the memory no longer twinged. And then he spoke again, and her laughter faded. "All the beauty in my life left when you did, Sara."

_That_ hurt, the bittersweet ache of truth and love. Sara halted, and Grissom swung around to face her, not letting go of her hand. This time, it was her palm that cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry," she told him, apologizing at last for walking out of his life without a word three years before. She had been justified, she felt, but she had also hurt him, and that she regretted.

He looked at her with eyes that still held a measure of sorrow, and on impulse she hugged him, wanting to make that grief go away, wanting to make it all right somehow. Grissom's breath huffed out and he hugged her back with strong arms, sharing the comfort in the press of cloth and muscle.

Then he let her go, taking her hand in his again, and without words they walked on.

It being Friday night, the restaurant was busy, but Sara had made reservations, and they were shown to a table near the counter where the sushi was prepared. There were three men immersed in the art; two were Japanese, like most of the staff, but the third was a tall, white-blond, slender man whose face was as impassive as that of his colleagues and whose handsomeness bordered on beauty. His unusualness merited an extra second's worth of observation; Sara settled herself into the chair Grissom held out for her, and then wondered why he looked so sober when he took his place across the table.

He too, glanced again at the blond man, and when he looked down at the table some of the lines that had faded from his face since he'd come to the East Coast had returned.

It seemed to be her night for insight. _Does he really think I can be distracted by a pretty face?_ Sara thought incredulously, but the slight hunch of his shoulders changed her anger to sympathy.

_If I saw him looking at a curvy twentysomething I'd probably feel the same, _she admitted to herself. _Though…he'd better not._

She discarded the idea of calling him on his doubts as soon as the thought appeared. This wasn't the place to discuss such things. Instead, she reached across the small table to touch his hand, and when he looked up she gave him a warm smile. "So what else did your Japanese friend get you to do?"

Grissom's eyes brightened again. "Do you really want to hear this?"

Sara sat back. "Hell yeah. You've told me a little about your mother, but I still don't know much about your life." She gestured at him. "So spill!"

It took a little coaxing, but by dint of trading stories she managed to get him to tell her about some of his college escapades, and what it was like being a coroner. Sara found herself fascinated by Grissom's hands when their meal came; like herself, he was comfortable using chopsticks, and for some reason she loved watching him pick up a piece of sushi, dip it in his chosen sauce, and pop it into his mouth without losing a crumb or a drop. It wasn't particularly sexual, but it was sensual, and to Sara it was like watching him handle evidence, something she had missed over the years.

Sara picked up the check when it came, ignoring Grissom's aborted move towards it. He was getting better about the issue, though she knew it still outraged his old-fashioned sensibilities on some level. _Tough. It's not like I pay for it even half the time. _It was still a lovely feeling to be courted, and Grissom got such a kick out of taking her out that she let him do it most of the time. Tonight, however, it had been her invitation.

As she tucked her credit card into the small folder, though, he managed a genuine smile. "Thank you for dinner."

She gave him one of her own in return. "You're welcome." They sat in contented silence for a little while, Sara finishing her sake and Grissom just looking relaxed, both of them replete with protein. The itamae were talking quietly to one another in Japanese, a pleasant murmur, and for some reason Sara remembered Grissom's hug, the warmth of their bodies in the cold dry air, the way it felt to be held safe, if just for a moment.

"That's what makes this so special," she murmured, only half-aware that she was speaking aloud.

Grissom leaned forward a little. "What?"

"You and me." Sara smiled again. "We can be friends, Gil. We can…"

She trailed off, not quite sure how to explain it, but Grissom smiled back, eyes crinkling.

"We were. We are," he confirmed softly, and she knew he understood.

It was as they were leaving that Sara's brow creased in confusion at the chefs' conversation, and she and Grissom exchanged a puzzled glance, but she waited until they had left the restaurant to speak. "Did you hear that?"

Grissom's expression was bemused. "The tall itamae's name is _Gojira_?"

Sara tried to see the austere man stomping Tokyo, and failed. "Maybe the Italian place next door has a giant moth handling the pasta."

Grissom snickered, and took her hand again. "We'll have to see sometime."

**See Chapter 10**


	10. Chapter 10

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Many, many thanks to Trialia, who reassured me again, and Cincoflex, the best of betas--there is no treasure like an editor who is not afraid to say what they think!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

They'd gotten into the habit of calling each other on evenings when they hadn't managed to get together, but it still took Grissom two days to muster the courage to ask. _Coward,_ he scoffed at himself. _She has more guts than you'll ever have. _But, he had to admit, that had always been true.

"So," Sara was saying in his ear, "the new machine can run samples in a third of the time of the old one, except we're having trouble getting funding for it. Greg's gonna laugh at me, because you know you guys are going to get one first."

"Of course," Grissom replied, smiling a little, and then forced the words out. "Sara, come to California with me for Christmas."

The sound Sara made wasn't quite a sputter, but neither was it a word. Grissom winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. Would you like to spend Christmas with me at my mother's house?"

"I--I--" She pulled in a deep breath. "Grissom, I don't know sign language!"

He took heart; if that was her main objection-- "Mom can read lips. And I can teach you a little between now and then, if you want."

"Um, does she--I mean--"

He really had flustered her. Grissom smiled more broadly at the ceiling; he usually lay back on his bed for these nighttime conversations, shyly pretending that she was lying next to him rather than sitting in a townhouse miles away. "I asked her if she'd mind having an extra guest, and she said you were welcome."

In fact, his mother had been both intrigued and a little wary, but had acquiesced without hesitation. He hadn't given her a lot of detail about why he'd abruptly decided on a leave of absence, but she did know the reason he was on the East Coast.

He sighed. "I meant to ask you in person, but I won't see you until Friday, and if you want to get reasonable tickets..."

"No, I understand," she replied, sounding a bit calmer.

"If you need time to think about it--"

"No," she said again, her voice lower. "I'd like to go with you, Gil. I'd like to meet your mother."

His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders relaxing back into the pillow in relief. "Good. I--I'm glad."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Sara spoke again, sounding a little amused. "Are you sure you want me to meet her? She might tell me all your secrets."

He snorted. "Every nine years and thirty-four days, I feel like sharing." And grinned at her chuckle. "I'm a little ahead."

**x**

It had been several hours since Grissom's surprising invitation, but the back of Sara's mind was still turning the idea over, humbled by the trust implied, while her main attention was taken up by evidence files. Her concentration was finally broken by the knock on her door, and she looked up. "'M imph," she said around the pen between her teeth, and her brother pushed open the door, carrying a tray.

"Dinner break," he informed her with almost menacing cheerfulness.

She spat the pen out onto the desk. "What time is it?"

"About midnight." Ed surveyed the litter of papers, photos, and files that covered her desk, and kicked a small footstool closer so he could put the tray on it. Sara glanced down at the food; sliced fruit, cheese and tomato sandwiches, and coffee.

She picked up the mug. "Thanks, Ed. You're a lifesaver."

"Eat, and I'll take the tray back down," he suggested, sitting down on her bed and stretching a little. Sara took a gulp of coffee and picked up a sandwich; they'd done this sort of favor for each other more times than she could count, the past few years. "How's it going?"

"Slowly," Sara said around a mouthful, "but it's going."

Ed nodded, and shoved a pillow against the headboard so he could lean back. "I've been meaning to ask, how's this 'friendship' thing working out with the Doc?"

Sara felt her face heat a little, and Ed chortled. "That's what I thought."

She shot him a "don't push it" look. "We're making it work, so far."

His expression softened. "Good. He's good for you."

"He asked me to go with him to see his mother for Christmas," she added, but to her disappointment, Ed didn't look surprised. Instead, a wide grin creased his face.

"Cool. He's gotta be serious if he's taking you to meet the 'rents. Or 'rent, in this case."

"Moving halfway across the country wasn't serious enough?" Sara asked wryly, and Ed cocked a brow at her.

"'Bout time you asked that question."

**xxxx**

Three days later, Grissom punched in the number for the Sidles' home line, slightly puzzled by the fact that Sara's phone was apparently "outside the service area". They were supposed to meet up for dinner that evening, and yet when he'd called to confirm the time, he hadn't been able to get a hold of her, and the message he'd left had not been returned.

The phone rang twice before Ed answered, his cheerful "Yello?" sounding less abstracted than usual.

"Hello, Ed," Grissom replied. "It's Grissom, is Sara available?"

"Oh, hey man, I'm glad you called," Ed said. "Sara had to fly up to Cleveland, some kind of Bureau thing, and her phone quit working on her." Grissom heard the faint rustle of paper under Ed's voice. "She wanted me to call you and tell you she had to cancel, but I can_not_ find your number."

Grissom had to chuckle at that. Sara was accurate in calling her brother absent-minded; Ed's science was razor-sharp in its precision, but anything outside of that besides the welfare of his children easily got lost in the thickets of the man's brain. "Did she tell you why she had to go?"

The noise Ed made was equivalent to a shrug. "Nope. Probably classified or something. Sorry."

Amusement faded into disappointment. Grissom understood the demands of government work--none better--but that didn't mean he couldn't feel the loss of an evening spent with Sara. "All right. Thanks."

"Hey, want to come over here instead?" Ed asked. "Kimmy's at a Scout overnighter and Joey's spending the night with a friend. We could order in pizza and discuss the vagaries of women." He snickered. "Or just watch my tape of the 2004 World Series final."

The idea was unexpectedly appealing. "Sure. I'll bring the beer."

It was a little odd to be walking into the Sidle house knowing that Sara was not there, but Ed had the knack of making one feel welcome, and formality was discarded as the pizza arrived and Grissom and Ed spread out on the couch, munching heavily pepperonied pie and arguing baseball. Ed didn't eat his crusts, which amused Grissom; when he finally broke down and asked why, Ed shrugged.

"One of the privileges of being an adult is I only have to eat something if I damn well feel like it. Except in front of the kids, of course."

Grissom laughed again. "Sounds like a conspiracy."

Ed, sprawled out so limply that Grissom wondered how he could eat without spilling, tossed a balled-up paper napkin in Grissom's general direction. "Breathe a word to the spawn, and we'll have to eliminate you."

The phone interrupted them in the middle of the seventh inning, and Ed heaved himself off the couch and went to answer it, while Grissom fumbled for the remote to stop the tape. The sound cut off just in time for him to overhear Ed's voice going from casual to deadly serious. "What? Slow down. Where are you?"

Grissom sat up straight, dire possibilities racing through his mind--Sara, the children--

"Are you all right?" Ed demanded, and paused to listen. "No, don't be an idiot. No, of course not. I'm coming to get you, you hear? Stay there...no, stay _there._ It's not a problem."

Not Sara, then, Grissom deduced, and judging from Ed's tone and phrasing, not his children either. The next most logical choice was--Gracie.

He eyed the coffee table, cluttered with paper napkins and plates, the pizza box, and bottles. Grissom had drunk a beer and a half, so far; Ed had had one more than that. The course of action was obvious.

When Ed hung up and turned around, he seemed a little surprised to see Grissom wearing his jacket and pulling out his car keys. "You don't have to leave," he said. "Stay and finish the pizza at least."

Grissom shook his head, and tossed Ed's jacket to him. "You've had more than two beers." The scientist was most likely unimpaired, but Grissom didn't see why taking the chance should be necessary. "I'm driving."

Ed caught the jacket, gaping a little, and Grissom raised an impatient brow. "Where are we going?"

Ed shook himself, and headed for the stairs to the garage, shrugging into the jacket. "Inova Hospital."

They were on their way, Grissom driving fast but carefully through the cold night, before he asked. "What happened?"

Ed blew out a breath. "It's nothing really serious. Grace slipped on some stairs and broke her wrist, simple fracture. She was calling to tell me she couldn't come by tomorrow to clean, can you believe it?" He shook his head in irritation. "She was going to take the _bus_ home from the emergency room. Stubborn woman."

Grissom knew Gracie had a car, an ancient Volkswagen hatchback that always looked as though it were about to fall apart, but figured that she had wisely not attempted to drive with a broken wrist. "A cab wasn't an option?"

"Nngh." Out of the corner of his eye, Grissom saw Ed run his hands through his hair, an exasperated gesture. "She's saving every cent she makes so she can finish up her bachelor's. You'd think that _this _would be an exception to the rule, but no…"

Grissom had to wonder why someone as motivated and intelligent as Gracie was only now completing college, but he didn't ask. "She's self-employed, correct? If she doesn't have health insurance, the emergency room trip alone could take a large bite out of her budget."

Ed's grumble subsided a little. "She does, but it's not very good insurance. Turn left at the next light." Grissom signaled to change lanes, and Ed went on. "It's just frustrating, that's all. She's brilliant--she could do so much. But she's stuck working her ass off cleaning other people's houses until she can scrape together the money to go back to school, and she's too damn proud to ask for help."

That matched the image of Gracie that Grissom had formed so far. She did things her own way and in her own time, much like a certain brunette he knew. _It's no wonder they get along so well._

The conversation trailed off, though Ed kept muttering angrily to himself, speaking up to give Grissom further directions. The hospital wasn't far; fortunately for Ed's temper, there was little traffic and they made good time, but as Grissom pulled his car up outside the emergency room entrance, he wondered whether there was anything left of the temper as it was.

Gracie, the unnatural paleness of her face standing out against her hair, was waiting for them just inside the doors, a sling wrapped around her freshly casted arm. She looked pinched and weary, and didn't resist when Ed bounded out of the car and swept her into a warm and careful hug.

Within moments he was helping her into the passenger seat, ignoring her faint protest that he should have it given the length of his legs. As Ed climbed into the back seat, Gracie gave Grissom a tired smile. "Thanks for driving out here, Doctor G."

Grissom took the seatbelt buckle from her hand and fastened it for her. "Glad I could help."

Ed closed the car door. "Do you know how to get back from here?"

Before Grissom could reply, Gracie spoke up. "I'd rather just go straight home, Ed." She rubbed her forehead with her uninjured hand. "I'm really tired."

Grissom, glancing in the rear-view mirror, caught Ed's impatient look. "C'mon, Grace, of course you're staying the night. I can't let you go home alone when you're hurt."

"Ed--" Gracie started, but Ed cut in, impatient.

"Don't be dumb. You really want to go home to that tiny apartment you call home? How're you going to take a shower with that cast on?"

_Oops._ Grissom saw Gracie's face tighten. _Even I know better than that._

"I'll manage," she said icily. "It's my home, after all."

Ed hissed. "Will you just be _reasonable_ for once?

For an instant, Grissom thought Gracie was going to start yelling, but instead she set her jaw and stared straight out the windshield. "Doctor Grissom, would you please take me home?"

"Of course." Grissom started the engine and put the car into gear, ignoring Ed's sputter. "Which way do I go?"

The drive was a frozen silence, punctuated by Gracie's soft-voiced instructions. Grissom turned up the heat when he saw her shivering, and drove with care. It really would be smarter for Gracie to go home with Ed, particularly if she was going to take heavy painkillers, but he knew enough about pride to know that Ed had broken all hope of that.

When they reached her apartment building, Ed got out without a word, and Gracie too said nothing as he escorted her inside. Grissom wondered if Ed would be able to talk Gracie into letting him stay there as an alternative, but the scientist reemerged after a couple of minutes, face cold, and got back into the front passenger seat without a word.

They were almost halfway back to the Sidles' when Ed started ranting about stubborn women who had to go their own ways even if it killed them. Grissom kept his mouth shut and listened; even without his prior observations, it was obvious that Ed had set his sights on the independent redhead.

How Gracie felt about it, however, Grissom didn't know.

"And dammit, I want the woman, but she keeps saying she won't even consider dating anyone until she has her degree," Ed finished, frowning fiercely. "I'm afraid to even bring up the subject of dating."

"You know, if you really want her, pissing her off is probably not the best way to go about it," Grissom pointed out mildly.

"Oh, like you're such an expert," Ed snapped, then blew out his breath. "Geez. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Grissom concentrated on his driving for a moment; the retort stung, because it was partly true. _But I'm changing. _"To win the right woman, one should study not all women, but make oneself the expert in her alone."

Ed raked a hand through his hair, and laughed ruefully. "Is that a quote?"

"More or less." Actually, Nick had said something like "Whattya need to know about women if you're in love? You only need to know one." _But it's more fun to change it--I have a reputation to maintain, after all._ "I don't think pushing is going to help, though."

Ed shrugged, a little petulantly, and slumped back in his seat. "Eh, I know. I just--I don't want to lose any more time, you know?"

Grissom did know. He didn't have a ghost reminding him of how much he had to lose, but he did know. _ I guess I just have more patience. _

Tonight, that seemed like a good thing, but when he reflected on all his missed chances, he had to wonder.

**xxxx**

"All right, that's _enough._"

Sara stalked over to the door of her room and yanked it open. "What did I say?"

Joey looked up beseechingly on the other side. "I want to learn Essel too!"

"A-S-L, Joseph, and maybe if you ask nicely Doctor G will teach you. Later. Right now, this is my working time."

"But--"

She folded her arms, and Grissom, watching from her desk chair, felt he could afford to be amused at the contrast between the tall woman and the hopeful little boy; after all, he wasn't responsible for discipline. "What happens during my working time?"

Joey dropped his eyes and sighed. "No bugging you unless there's blood or fire or strangers."

"Right. No coming up the stairs unless it's an emergency. And tell your sister that if we want something to drink, we'll get it ourselves, okay?"

"Oh-kay." Joseph turned and dragged himself back down the stairs, and Sara shut the door firmly behind him. Grissom quickly schooled his expression back towards polite interest; Joseph's interruption, the third since they'd come upstairs, had stretched Sara's temper a little.

"It's you they want to see, not me," Sara grumbled, dropping back into the overstuffed chair opposite his. Grissom put on a fake-modest look.

"What can I say, I'm a popular guy."

As he'd hoped, this made Sara laugh. "Show me the sign for 'decide' again."

Grissom demonstrated, and had the small thrill of reaching out to correct the position of Sara's hands as she worked to copy him. She was as quick a student with American Sign Language as she was with forensics, and it was a bit embarrassing to Grissom to realize how rusty he was with only using it once or twice a year.

"Again, expression has a lot to do with context," he coached, signing along with his words. "You wouldn't use the same expression for 'I've decided to go to the movies' as you would for 'Have you come to a decision'."

Sara's eyes were narrow with concentration as she tried to follow his movements. "It's the grammar that's throwing me off," she murmured, repeating his example question, and then belatedly rearranged her features into a look of inquiry. The slight exaggeration of the expression made Grissom want to laugh, but he held it in.

"Good. Like anything else, it takes practice." He kept signing, making his movements slow so she could watch. "Mom won't expect you to sign with her, you know."

Sara bit her lip, and then signed "I know" with the hesitancy of a novice. Her hands jerked a couple of times, and then she let them drop into her lap, defeated in her search for words. "It just seems polite."

Grissom smiled. He didn't think courtesy was the only thing driving the insatiably curious Sara. "Trust me, if you can say 'hello' when you meet her, she'll be delighted."

Sara thought for a moment, then gave him a puckish look, and signed "hell" followed by the letter O.

A surprised laugh escaped him; swearwords had been one of the things Sara had wanted to learn, along with some of the more common phrases of greeting and necessity. "Somehow, I don't think that would shock her."

Sara snorted, and flexed her fingers. "Grissom, she raised you. By this point she has to be pretty unshockable."

He raised a brow. "You're right." Reaching out, he took her hands and began rubbing them gently with his thumbs. "If it wasn't dissections in the back shed, it was anatomy books on the front table when my aunts came for lunch. Aunt Patty, in particular; I'll admit to having deliberately left a couple out just to get her goat."

Her snicker was music to his ears. Sara laced her fingers with his, and tugged, pulling his forearms from where they rested on his knees. Grissom blinked, not certain what she had in mind, but when she leaned forward in turn to touch her lips to his, he was delighted to go along.

Her mouth was so soft. No other woman he'd ever kissed was like Sara; none of them, not one, was such a perfect fit, such an enticing taste. Grissom slid to his knees in front of her chair, pressing closer, and Sara shook her hands free of his and cupped them around his head. Her mouth traveled along the edge of his beard, leaving tiny kisses, and Grissom, dizzy with bliss, laid his arms along the outside of her thighs and let her do it.

"Wanted to do that...since you grew it," Sara muttered in his ear, and Grissom turned his head so he could reciprocate along the delicate line of her jaw.

"Wanted to do that since I met you," he managed as he reached her chin. Sara still had hold of his head, and she dipped her own until their mouths met again. He was just about to make more of the kiss when a crackle of static broke into their concentration.

"_Pizza's here,"_ Ed's voice said cheerfully from the intercom.

Sara made an inarticulate noise, and then they pulled back, blinking at each other, breath coming fast. After a moment Sara sighed. "He always had the _worst_ timing," she grumbled, and released him, but Grissom got the feeling that she was at least in some way relieved at the interruption.

He almost was, himself. It had always been obvious, at least to him, that their attraction would be electric if they got that far, and he didn't want to rush Sara or push her into anything uncomfortable. He ignored his hindbrain, which was clamoring for him to pick up where they'd left off, and sat back on his heels, removing his hands to the safer territory of the arms of Sara's chair.

"I'm given to understand that siblings often do," he said, and cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at the faint hoarseness in his voice.

Sara pursed her lips, but the smile survived; Grissom was absurdly pleased to see that her cheeks were still faintly flushed. "Spoken like an only child," she drawled, and Grissom had to chuckle. He pushed to his feet and held out a hand.

"Past experience tells me that if we don't get down there now, Kimmy will eat all the anchovies."

Sara put her hand in his and let him pull her up. "Most kids are picky eaters, and Ed goes and has one that eats everything..." she complained, and turned for the door.

But she kept hold of Grissom's hand, and he followed.

**See Chapter 11**


	11. Chapter 11

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**I know that the poem quoted in this chapter has recently been used in another CSI fic, but I wrote that section before I read it, so...it's obviously an appropriate GSR poem! grin **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara bit her lip, hard. This was not a phone call she wanted to make, not in the least, but she had no choice. _It's the job,_ she reminded herself. _It's not like you didn't know what you were getting into._

But the thought was no comfort. She swore silently and picked up the receiver.

A ring and a half, and Grissom's warm voice was speaking into her ear. "Hello, Sara."

It never failed to thrill her a bit, the fact that he always said her name, though she'd never admit it; but this time it made her stomach twist a little. "Hi."

Her voice was flat, and she knew he'd pick up on it. "What's the matter?"

"I, um, have a problem." Drat it, she was a professional; she could be as cool and unflappable as any in the interrogation room. To be just short of stuttering now--

"Professional, or personal?" Grissom's voice still held a hint of amusement, and that hurt, because she was about to knock it away.

"Um, both." She took a deep breath, and just said it. "Grissom, I can't go with you. To California."

She waited for the anger, the hurt, but he only sounded blank. "You can't." A pause. "Why not?"

"The case we're working on just went major, and they want to file as soon as possible. We're all working doubles to get it done, but I'm not going to make the flight. I'm sorry, I--"

"Sara, calm down." His voice was soothing. "It's all right. These things happen."

She let out a breath, still uncertain. "I really wanted to go, Gil."

He made an agreeing, rueful noise. "I really wanted you to go too. But work is work." She could see him in her mind's eye, shrugging a little. "You're talking to the one person who'd understand."

And, unexpectedly, that made her laugh. "Yeah, I am, aren't I? I am sorry, though."

"Me too." Somehow she knew he was smiling. "But there will be other opportunities."

"I hope so." Relief made her feel a little saucy.

"Oh, I meant to ask--can you tell me how Gracie is?" Grissom asked.

Sara switched the phone to her other ear. "She's fine, back to work. She's still a little mad at Ed, but I told him he should go over with a bouquet and grovel, and he said he would tonight."

Grissom chuckled. "Wise man. Are you at work right now?"

Sara glanced around her room automatically. "No, I escaped, but I have to go in early tomorrow." She leaned back in her desk chair, relaxing now that the burden of her news was lifted. "I'm pretending the paperwork I brought home doesn't exist."

"For now, it doesn't," he agreed. "Where would you rather be?"

It was a game they'd fallen into during their late-night calls, comparing fantasies of time off and vacations that they'd probably never get around to. Sara had confided her secret wish to visit India and hunt tigers--with a camera--and Grissom had somewhat wistfully described a desire to visit Uganda to study _Isoptera._ Tonight, Sara sighed and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "A sailboat, somewhere sunny and warm. Off the coast of Baja, maybe."

"You can sail?"

"I grew up on the water, of course I can sail." Sara tipped her head back and grinned at the ceiling. "Don't tell me you can't."

"Of course I can," Grissom mimicked. "It's been a long time, though."

"Yeah." She hadn't been out on the water for fun since she'd rented a sailboat at Lake Mead her first year in Vegas. "Where would _you _rather be?"

"Beside you."

The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the two low words. "Yeah?" she asked, keeping her voice casual. "You do that several times a week, Gil."

"Mm, that doesn't keep me from wanting it," he said softly, and Sara felt her pulse speed up. They'd kept their interactions light, to date; moving carefully beyond the realm of friendship with a few kisses, yes, but not daring more than that. Part of it was hesitancy, on Sara's side; part of it seemed to be a desire to take things slowly, to let them repair their friendship before going much further.

But judging by the tone in Grissom's voice, he wasn't feeling restrained at the moment. "You know how I feel when I see you in one of those suits you wear to work?" he asked.

Sara blinked. "No…"

"You're so elegant. You look like nothing in the world can stop you." He sighed. "But when you take off the jacket, it's all I can do to keep my hands at my sides."

"Grissom--"

"Part of me just wants to hold you forever, Sara," he said, his voice wistful, and then it deepened, going a little husky. "Part of me wants to undo those blouse buttons one by one, and finally satisfy my curiosity about the taste of your skin."

Sara shivered. There was nothing truly explicit in his words, but it was _Grissom_ saying them. The images that rode in on his tone exploded vivid and compelling in her head, joining the old half-conscious fantasies that had swum in her mind on the edge of aching, lonely sleep. The mere idea of Grissom's mouth pressed to her belly, the prickle of his beard--

She felt her lips turn up, and she leaned back further in her chair. "How long have you been thinking along those lines?" she asked, guessing the answer but willing to play the game.

The faintest laugh sounded in her ear. "Since I met you," he repeated.

Sara purred, she couldn't help it. "Turnabout is fair play, I guess."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Every time you take off _your_ jacket I can't get over your arms."

That threw him a bit, she could tell. "My arms?"

"And your hands. You have the sexiest hands I've ever seen." The teasing fell away a little. "Gentle, you know?"

"I didn't know that was a turn-on," he said, voice going husky again.

"It definitely is for me." Sara wished she could be as poetic as Grissom. "You know that habit you have of touching the small of a woman's back when you're walking with her?"

"Yes..."

"Been driving me nuts for _years._" His chuckle made her grin.

"I'll keep that in mind. Sara--"

She cocked her head as though he were watching her. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

It was her turn to be puzzled. "For what?"

"For...giving me another chance."

She bit her lip again, old fears resurfacing, and struggled to keep her tone light. "Just don't screw it up, Grissom."

"I'll do my best," he assured her softly.

She was really starting to believe him.

**xxxx**

Sara braked for a red light and dialed Grissom's number on her cellphone, setting the headset in her ear. _I hate to do this on the run, but it's not like I have a lot of choice._

Grissom picked up just as the light turned green. "Hello, Sara."

"Hey," she said, a little breathlessly. "Would you mind if I swung by for a few minutes? I'm on my way back to work."

"You're always welcome, Sara," Grissom replied, sounding slightly puzzled.

"Okay, see you in a few," she said, not explaining why. It felt a little silly, for no good reason.

It didn't take long to get to Grissom's hotel; traffic was relatively light on a Sunday evening, despite Christmas shoppers, and Sara swung into his parking lot about ten minutes after she'd called him. She jogged up the stairs, and Grissom must have been watching out the window, because he was standing in his doorway waiting for her.

"Did Ed and the kids get off okay?" Grissom asked, moving out of the way so she could pass.

Sara stepped through, pulling off her gloves. "Yeah, and I'll tell you, the house sure was quiet last night." Her relations would be spending a long week in Atlanta, and Sara wondered when she had become unused to the quiet of an empty house. Christmas was in three days, and some part of her apparently expected the time to be filled with small excited relations.

Grissom regarded her a bit wistfully. "You seem to be in a hurry. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

Sara thought a moment. She was on her way back into work for the evening, and didn't have a lot of time, but coffee sounded very good, and she could use the caffeine. "Sure, thanks."

Grissom nodded, and waved her towards a seat. Judging by the scent in the air, he'd just made a fresh pot, and he went into the kitchenette and reemerged a minute later with a mug doctored the way she liked it and one for himself. "What brings you by?" he asked, sitting opposite at the tiny dining table. "Not that I'm not glad to see you."

Sara took a sip of coffee, then fished in the bag she'd brought with her, pushing the contents across the table. "Merry Christmas."

Grissom looked down at the broad, flat package wrapped in dark blue paper and silver ribbon, his expression mingling astonishment and shy delight. Sara shook her head and swallowed more coffee. _Did he think I wasn't going to give him a present? Even in Vegas we swapped gifts every year. _

He picked up the package, hefting it a little. "Thank you, Sara."

Suddenly insecure about the contents, she set down her mug. "No opening it until Christmas."

He arched a brow, but set it back down again. "Hold on a minute."

Grissom rose, and went to rummage in a bag on his dresser, then came back with a smaller package for her; it had gold foil paper and a tiny sprig of artificial holly, with a card beneath the decoration. He handed it to her; it was a little heavier than she expected.

"I was going to bring it by tomorrow before I left," he commented, sitting back down.

Intrigued, Sara turned it over, but before she could slide a finger under the paper, his hand was covering hers. "Uh-uh," Grissom said, a hint of teasing in his voice. "If I have to wait until Christmas, so do you."

Sara grinned, and put the gift down. "How's your case going?" Grissom asked.

She shrugged. "They want to file by the twenty-sixth at the latest, so we're all busting our butts to get it done."

Grissom cocked his head. "Will they have a viable case?"

Sara turned her mug around on the table. "Sure, if we get it all finished. The prosecutor's office wants it air-tight, and frankly so do we. Child pornography ring."

Grissom winced in sympathy. "I don't blame you."

Sara looked at her watch, and gulped the rest of her coffee, ignoring the burn. "I'm sorry, Gil, but I have to go. It's probably going to be an all-nighter."

Grissom nodded, and rose as she did, walking with her to the door. Once there, he put a hand on her shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Sara. I'll see you when I get back."

She grinned wider. "Count on it."

**xxxx**

Work, at least, was occupying. Sara sighed as she opened another file. She was still annoyed at having her Christmas plans cancelled, but being at work was better than being at home--at least at work she had something to do, even on Christmas Eve.

People were beginning to trickle into the office; without Kimmy to take to school, Sara had come in early. Her boss strode past in a swirl of overcoat, giving her a long look; Sara waved back, not paying much attention. Toby Washington was almost a foot taller than Sara, and almost cadaverous, and she liked him very much--and not just because she had never been attracted to him. He demanded a great deal from his agents, but he also gave a lot back, and she found working with him to be a challenge and a delight.

Not five minutes after he'd come in, his bellow rang out over the open-plan office. "_Sidle!_"

Unconcerned, Sara rose and made her way through the cubicles to his office. Washington's summoning method was unconventional, but his people were used to it.

She leaned against his doorframe, an old habit. "Yeah, boss?"

He pointed a long finger across his desk, which was a sea of papers and files. "Door. Seat."

Sara stepped inside, closed the door, and took the seat across from him. Washington folded his hands, propped his elbows on his desk, and regarded her for a moment. "Do you know how much vacation time you've got built up?" he asked at last.

_Uh-oh._ Sara put on a bright smile. "I've taken some recently," she said helpfully.

"Yeah. Three days. Sidle, you're entitled to almost five weeks a year. As of now, you've used…" He spun his computer monitor around so she could see it. "…A week. Total."

"Well, I was _going_ to use more of it," she pointed out. "This case kind of got in the way."

"Exactly." Washington looked smug, which made Sara wary. "You guys have done amazing things this week, and it should be ready for filing by the end of the day. Which brings me to my point. Go home."

Sara's mouth dropped open a little. "What?"

Washington smirked at her. "Go _home._ You're at the top of the time-off list. It's Christmas Eve. Take off."

She frowned. "Toby, my family's in Atlanta. I can stay. Send somebody with kids home."

He shook his head. "I'm going to dismiss the parents before lunch; a couple of the Muslims next door negotiated for extra time off for Eid al-Adha in exchange for working Christmas, and they can do the last-minute finishing-up."

Sara hesitated, trying to muster another argument. Truth be told, she'd planned on working late, because going home to the empty townhouse was downright depressing. She wasn't even sure anymore whether she missed her family the most, or Grissom. "Are you sure you don't need--"

Washington shook his head. "Home," he repeated firmly. "Go kiss that boyfriend of yours, the one who keeps sending you flowers." The bouquets arrived with embarrassing, heart-warming regularity every Monday morning, and she couldn't talk Grissom out of it--he just smirked and said something about catching up. "Hang up your stocking, leave cookies for Mr. Merry-Christmas-Home-Invasion, sing carols to annoy the neighbors--I don't care, as long as you get out of here and don't come back until at least Monday."

His glare was harmless, but Sara knew it meant that he'd made up his mind. Sighing, she pushed to her feet. "All right, okay."

Her boss snickered. "That's right--we love enthusiasm around here."

Sara rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling.

It was barely nine o'clock when she got home, and Sara tossed her bag on the couch and grimaced, not at all pleased. A long, empty day stretched before her; there was nothing left to clean, thanks to Gracie, and Washington had forbade her to take any work home. Restless, she changed out of her suit and made herself a cup of tea, and was about to resign herself to a day spent with journals and the TV, when the Christmas tree caught her eye.

The heavily decorated fir in the corner of the living room sheltered a small jumble of presents with its spiky branches. Most were for her, or for Ed; the kids had taken the majority of their gifts with them to Atlanta, to open on Christmas morning there. Those under the tree waited on their return, when Sara and Ed would unwrap theirs.

Including the gold one, which threw back the twinkling lights of the tree.

_Well, it's almost Christmas._

Sara wasn't at all certain what to expect as she picked up the package and sat down on the couch. Grissom's birthday present to her had been fairly logical, it was the sort of jewelry she often wore; once she'd gotten over the surprise of his choosing a piece she'd been eying, it was his note that had touched her the most. But now she looked at the box in her hand, and wondered what he had chosen this time. This was a side of Grissom she couldn't predict; all she knew was that giving her things, even little ones, seemed to be a delight for him. She pulled the envelope off and opened it.

She knew at once that the quote was from e.e. cummings, it wasn't an obscure poem, but in this context the words put a lump in her throat.

_your slightest look will easily unclose me_

_though i have closed myself as fingers, _

_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_

_(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose_

_nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals_

_the power of your intense fragility:whose texture_

_compels me with the color of its countries,_

_rendering death and forever with each breathing_

And again, the simple signature of _Gil_.

_Dammit. He always gets to me. _Sara bit her lip to push back the tears, and read the quote again. Setting the unopened box aside, she turned it over in her mind, the quote giving way to all the recent memories that Grissom had created for her. The joy of spending time with him. The taste of his lips. The look in his eyes when she smiled at him.

Almost instinctively, Sara reached for the phone sitting on the side table. After four rings, a gruff and sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

Sara sighed. "Ed. Do you have a minute? I need to talk."

He snickered. "Merry Christmas to you too. Hold on." She heard children's excited voices in the background, and then Ed, saying something she couldn't quite make out, obviously to someone else. A moment later, the sounds dropped off. "Okay, shoot."

"Where are you?" she asked.

He yawned. "Outside on the porch. Lucky for you I've already had my coffee. So what's up?"

Sara stared at the card in her hand. "Ed, what am I doing? Why haven't I just told Gil yes and...and gotten _on_ with our lives?"

His chuckle was kinder this time. "Because you're stubborn as hell. You're trying to prove that you aren't weak."

Sara shook her head. "Gil doesn't think I'm weak." She knew that, at least.

"Not Gil, dummy," her brother said gently. "You. You're the one you're trying to convince." She heard a faint scratching sound as he rubbed his scalp. "He already thinks you're wonderful. You're just afraid of ruining your rep as strong tough Sara Sidle if you let him in. Which is dumb," he added, all pragmatic older brother.

It made sense. It made a lot of sense, actually, and it made her realize something else. "I'm scared," she admitted in a low voice.

"Of course you are," Ed replied, still gentle. "He hurt you bad, and now he wants to try again. _He's_ probably scared out of his mind."

But there he was anyway, quiet brilliant Grissom, finally taking the chance she'd wanted him to take for so long. _So why am I still holding him off? _

"Let me tell you something, Sar," Ed said quietly. "It hurts like the depths of Hell to lose someone you love. And I put off loving Jen for two years because I was scared. And you know what? If I'd known then what I do now, I would have said yes the very first time she asked me out. Even knowing how much it would hurt."

Sara's throat was tight, but she could feel the smile forming. "So basically, what you're telling me is to get off my ass and love him."

Ed laughed. "I don't think love is the problem. _Trust_ him, sis. This is me telling you, the guy who used to chase off your would-be boyfriends."

That made her laugh in turn. "Ed, they were seven years old!"

"See? I was right, they weren't right for you."

She shook her head. "And he is?"

"Well, I think so, but you're the only one who can decide." Ed yawned again. "Sara, I've met the guy, I've hung out with him. If you tell him yes, then he'll treat you like the most precious thing in the world. Whatever kind of idiot he's been in the past, he's ready now."

"Okay." She swallowed. "Okay. I'll...think about it."

Ed hooted. "You do that! Look, breakfast's almost ready. You wanna say hi to the kids?"

"Nah, I'll call later." Sara turned her wrist to glance at her watch as an idea formed.

"Is good. Talk to you then, then."

"Merry Christmas, Ed. And thanks." She grinned at him even though he couldn't see her. "Send me the bill."

"Ho ho ho. Later!"

Sara clicked off the phone, and sat for a moment, thinking hard. Then she swallowed the last of her tea and turned on the phone again. She had one more call to make.

**See Chapter 12**


	12. Chapter 12

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**  
Again, those signing in this chapter (and subsequent ones) would most likely be using American Sign Language rather than Signed English, so the syntax as written does not correspond exactly to the signs as implied. But I'm not up on ASL syntax, and anyway I choose to exercise author's privilege and make it easier to read for those unfamiliar with ASL. And for me. **

Many many many thanks to everyone who has sent me feedback--in particular Trialia, csipal, csinut214, gglovebug, wp1fan, jtbwriter, and the untoppable Laura Katharine. And, of course, Cincoflex, without whom this chapter would be quite different and not half as good. Thanks, folks. 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

He missed her. He was home for the holiday, and yet his heart wasn't really in it. Grissom strolled along the Marina del Rey streets, lost in thought.

He had been missing Sara for three years, he knew that, but missing her after they'd rebuilt their friendship had sharpened that ache; while he was always glad to see his mother, he'd found his thoughts constantly drifting back to the East Coast.

And he couldn't help wondering how much Sara missed him in turn. Did she miss him just as a friend, or as something more? Despite the caresses they'd shared he knew she hadn't really decided whether to risk letting him in again or not. He'd done his best not to push. After all he'd done to hurt her, deliberately or not, she deserved all the time she wanted to make up her mind.

Even if he did want to just pull her into his arms and kiss her until she gave him her heart.

_Well, whatever she decides, you have her friendship._ And that was something he could lean on without hesitation. Grissom wanted very much to be her lover, her beloved, but he knew that without the friendship the love would not last.

He sighed as he stepped onto the marina that was just six blocks from his mother's assisted living facility. _So call her. You can hear her voice, at least._

Grissom took a deep breath of the sweet-salt air and flipped open his phone, hitting the speed dial for Sara. It took only two rings before she answered.

"I was just about to call you," she said in lieu of greeting, and Grissom chuckled, amused by the coincidence.

"My timing's improving," he commented. "Do you have time to talk?"

He stared out at the setting sun and hoped she did. As if answering his wishes, her reply came back over the distance. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? I figured you'd be in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner about now."

He kept up his slow steady pace along the deserted docks. "No, Mom's taking a nap right now; we're going to my aunt's for dinner later, before Mass. I decided to go for a walk along the marina."

A muffled sound, and then-- "I'm glad you called," Sara said, sounding a little shy. "It's kind of quiet with everybody gone."

His heart warmed. _I miss you too, sweetheart._ "Is it snowing yet?"

She laughed. "Ed says that D.C. has a white Christmas maybe once a decade. It's not even freezing."

"That's not right." He sighed exaggeratedly, to make her snort.

"This from the guy who grew up in L.A.?"

He smirked to himself, idly reading the names on the boats he was passing. _Luck Be A Lady. George's Hull._ "I spent some time in Minnesota, too, remember. Any place that has snow should have it on Christmas." He didn't really believe that, but it was fun to tease her.

"Talk to Congress," she shot back, which made him chuckle. _Sea's Serenity. The Gullwing. Oshun Oxtra. _

_...What? _

He backtracked a little to make sure that was what he'd seen, blinked at the wriggly printing, then gave up and walked on, admiring the Christmas lights strung up on many of the riggings. "Legislating snowfall?"

"Sounds like a forties movie, doesn't it?" Sara chuckled, and he could tell by the low thrum of an engine that she was driving. "What's your happiest Christmas memory, Gil?"

He wasn't expecting the question, but it was easy to answer. "1986. My mother had a heart attack just after Thanksgiving, and her prognosis wasn't good. But she rallied, and she actually made it home by Christmas, mostly on sheer grit." He passed a few more boats--_Cameron's Chase, The Sand Bar_--remembering that sunny, triumphant day when his mother, scorning her wheelchair, had entered the church on his arm.

She hadn't looked back since, either.

_Artichoke Of The Sea_ made him smile. "What about you?" Grissom knew a lot of her years had not been happy, but he figured that there had to be some good memories.

"1979," she said promptly. "I got a Shrinky Dink set. I was so psyched, because I could finally figure out how the damn things _worked._"

Grissom had to laugh as he passed _Cordelia's Grace_ and the _Brass Puck._ "And did you?"

"Of course," she said with mock indignation. "I kept opening the oven door though, so it took three times as long."

"Of course," he echoed. "Ever the scientist." _Heather's Hope. Sonic Screwdriver. _The sun had almost vanished in a glory of clouds, and through the receiver he heard the engine stop and a car door open and close. "Do you miss me?"

He'd meant the question for a tease, but she was silent a moment, and Grissom almost halted in sudden fear that he'd said the wrong thing.

But then Sara breathed out, he could hear it. "I always did," she said quietly, and his throat swelled.

He'd come to the edge of the marina; there was just one more boat, and he focused his blurring eyes on that. "I missed you too, more than I can say," he managed. For a long wild moment he wondered if they really should be together, if after all he'd done or not done he could still make her heart glad.

And then the letters on the stern came clear, and Grissom smiled. _Sweet Sara._

He didn't do omens, but some things just couldn't be ignored.

"Sara, do…have you had dinner yet?"

A click punctuated his words, and Grissom's pleasure vanished as he realized that the connection had been broken. Frowning, he pulled his phone from his ear and looked down at it, but everything seemed to be in order. Punching the redial, he lifted it back to his ear, but her voice mail picked up immediately.

His shoulders sagged, and he waited for the beep. "Sara, we seem--"

A hand touched his back, and Grissom, startled, spun around, only to feel his eyes widen.

Her hair was ruffled by the evening breeze off the water, and she had a small suitcase with her; she looked tired and slightly rumpled, but it really was Sara, smiling at him with her heart in her eyes. "Merry Christmas, Gil," she said.

Her name was the only word that made it out of his mouth, and Grissom reached out, not quite certain that she wasn't conjured up by his wistful desire. But her cheek was warm and smooth against his palm, her chin firm under his thumb, and the evidence told him that she was _there._

Then she closed the gap between them, and Grissom wrapped his arms around her happily, still incredulous. For just a second she returned his hug, sighing against his ear, and then she put one hand on the back of his head and caught his mouth with hers, and with a rush of stunned joy he realized that she had made up her mind.

Something snapped inside his chest then, snapped into place, and he returned her kiss with everything he could muster, feeling her tremble in his arms like she had before, knowing he was shaking just as much. She was so warm and alive and his, his, _his_--he wanted to fold her into himself, he wanted to kneel at her feet, he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, but he couldn't bear to pull away for an instant.

Eventually they calmed somewhat, more out of a need for oxygen than anything else; they leaned into each other, laughing a little from sheer astonishment. Grissom managed to lift a hand to her face once more. "Sara, are you sure?"

Her chuckle was half-choked. "I always was, Gil, I just had to convince myself." She blinked. "That didn't make any sense, did it?"

He laughed again, stroking her cheek, still trying to take in the fact that his dearest dream had come true. "Yes it did. Sara, Sara--" He dipped his head just slightly to kiss her again. And again.

And again.

**X**

"How did you get here?" Grissom asked a while later, as they sat on the end of one of the docks and watched the stars come out. His expression was still exalted, but now puzzlement was there too.

Sara laughed. His arm was warm around her waist, and she swung her feet a little over the quiet water below, feeling wired and tired and…for the first time in a very long time…content. "Did you know," she said deliberately, "that an empty military cargo plane can make the flight from D.C. to L.A. in just over five hours?"

He laughed, and she felt the vibration against her side, and tucked her fingers into the pocket of his jeans so her own arm would stay in place around him. "You pulled rank?"

She shrugged a little. "Not exactly. But there was space, and my boss owed me a favor." In fact, Toby Washington had been more than happy to help. Sara suspected that the man was a closet romantic.

Grissom shook his head. "How did you find me?"

That had to be nagging him, Sara knew. "Sheer coincidence. The cab was two streets over when you called, and when you said you were on the marina, I told the driver to take me there. I actually spotted you about three seconds after we turned onto the marina road."

"So you were stalking me?" His voice was warm with humor, and Sara grinned.

"You have an objection?"

For answer he touched her chin, turning her head to meet his in yet another warm, sweet kiss. Sara moaned softly against his lips, blissed out by the sheer joy of it. _Years,_ she had dreamed of this, and now it was hers, and she banished doubt sternly to the back of her mind. She had Gil, and even though she knew she had accomplished great things already, it felt like her life was just getting started. _Endorphins,_ murmured the scientist; _shut up and enjoy,_ retorted the woman.

Eventually Grissom sighed. "We need to get back, Mom should be waking up soon," he said regretfully. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Sara admitted. "No food service on military planes."

Grissom let her go with reluctance and stood, reaching down a hand to help her to her feet. "Well, dinner at my aunt's will take care of that."

Guilt seeped in. "Gil, um, I'm not exactly invited."

Grissom snorted. "Believe me, they'd kill me if I _didn't _bring you along. I'll call Aunt Susan so she knows to set an extra plate, but they're going to be delighted to see you."

Sara envisioned a horde of relations and cringed a little, but didn't argue. Grissom shrugged. "If I could keep you to myself this evening, Sara, I would, but they'd never forgive me."

She snagged the handle of her wheeled carry-on, beating his grab for it. "No, no, that's okay--family is good, right?"

Grissom eyed her for a moment, then took her hand in his. "I'll protect you," he said easily, and she had to laugh at the mischief in his grin.

They set off down the walk, through the artificial forest of masts and lines and lights, still all alone; one solitary sailboat motored quietly past, but that was the only sign of life on the docks. Sara found herself shivering in the rising breeze, but before she could stop and extract her jacket from her suitcase, Grissom was pulling off his sweater.

She swallowed hard at the brief glimpse of his stomach when his shirt rode up, but then he was tugging it down with one hand, and telling her to raise her arms. The sweater went over her head, warm and rough and smelling wonderfully of him, and to Sara's tired brain it seemed like a hug at one remove. Grissom slid the hem into place around her hips, and she thanked him with a smile; it was way too big, of course, but she wasn't shivering any longer.

It didn't take long to reach Grissom's mother's building. They signed in at the lobby, the receptionist greeting him cheerfully, and Grissom led her to an elevator. "I've got one of the guest rooms on Mom's floor," he explained quietly as the doors slid shut. "You can have that, and I'll sleep on her couch. I've done it before," he added before Sara could object.

Nervousness swelled in the pit of her stomach as they left the elevator and walked down a thickly carpeted hallway. The assisted-living facility was obviously first-class, the décor subtle and tasteful, but she wasn't paying it much attention. _What's she going to think of me, showing up at the last minute like this? Geez, what's she going to think of me, period? My hair's a mess, I've got bags under my eyes, and I'm wearing her son's sweater--_

Before she could panic, Grissom stopped at one door and unlocked it with a key from his keyring, pushing it open and reaching inside to flip the light off and on before waving Sara in. She got an impression of a small space cleverly used, bright spots of color on the walls, but most of her attention was taken by the elderly woman rising from the sofa at the far end of the room. Grissom signed something, but the woman's eyes were fixed on Sara, and her own hands moved as her lips did. "You came," she said, loud and muffled and delighted, and then stepped swiftly forward and took Sara's hands in both of hers.

Rosalie Grissom's head barely came up to her son's shoulder, and she looked frail and elegant; as her cool fingers enveloped Sara's hands, Sara felt way too tall and ungainly and awkward. Rosalie tugged Sara forward and laid her cheek against Sara's for a moment; she smelled of baby powder and clean cotton and just a hint of urine, a combination that Sara had scented before in the aged. Sara looked over the white-haired head at Grissom; he was watching them, his expression a bittersweet mixture of pride and happiness and a hint of pain.

Then Rosalie stepped back, her hands moving almost before she'd unwrapped them from around Sara's. The signs were far too rapid for Sara to understand them, but Grissom began translating. "She says it's wonderful to meet you at last and she's very happy you came."

He signed something back, and Sara gathered her wits; when Rosalie turned to her again, Sara raised her own hands and signed a slow and careful "Merry Christmas, I'm glad to meet you."

Rosalie's smile widened. She spoke and signed at the same time, her words a little garbled but understandable. "Come and sit down."

The room was warm; as Rosalie turned back to the living room, Sara skinned out of Grissom's sweater and handed it back to him. "Thanks," she said quietly, and he gave her one of his tiny smiles and set the garment aside.

Sara found herself on a high couch, opposite Grissom's mother, who sat in a wingback chair. The walls were hung with several abstract paintings, and a small Christmas tree twinkled in one corner. Grissom sat down next to Sara, putting his arm behind her shoulders in a careful move that made her grin a little.

"So tell me about yourself, Sara," Rosalie said, surprising Sara by eschewing sign. "Gil says you work for the FBI?"

Sara nodded. Grissom had told her that Rosalie could read lips, so she made sure her face stayed towards the woman. "I'm a forensic scientist for the Bureau, yes." _Forensic? Is she going to know that one? Oh, duh, she's Gil's mom. She has to have seen it before. _

Sara wasn't entirely comfortable trying to answer Rosalie's questions about her job, but the woman seemed to have little trouble understanding her; once or twice, Rosalie's gaze shifted to the side as Grissom translated something, but for the most part she kept her attention on Sara. It wasn't the sort of thing Sara was used to--she hadn't undergone a parental interrogation since her sophomore year of college--and she did want to make a good impression, even though Grissom was an adult and more than capable of making up his own mind about his relationships. But Rosalie seemed pleased by Sara's answers, her son's small smile appearing on her own lips.

After about five minutes, she sat up straight, the smile disappearing. "Oh, my dear, I forgot to offer you something to drink."

Sara shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Beside her, Grissom glanced at his watch, then signed and spoke. "Actually, Mom, it's almost time to leave for Susan's, and I think Sara would appreciate a chance to freshen up."

"Of course." Rosalie stood, her knees obviously stiff. "Right down the hall on the left."

Sara rose in turn, giving the older woman a smile, and retrieved her suitcase from its place near the door. The bathroom was as small as the rest of the apartment, and as tidy; it took Sara only a few minutes to brush her hair and reapply her lipstick. Her black slacks and cranberry blouse were, fortunately, quite suitable for a dinner party. _Good thing I changed at LAX. That plane was dirty._ Even a direct flight had seemed long, sitting in a worn-out seat in a noisy cargo bay. _But worth every second._

She looked at herself in the mirror. Fatigued, yes, but her eyes were bright, and the smile that still hovered at the corners of her lips was one part incredulity and three parts joy.

_I can't believe I waited this long._ But it was a precarious thing, this new happiness, and a small part of her wasn't quite able to believe in it just yet.

Sara smoothed her hair one last time, still considering her reflection. "Believe it," she finally said to the mirror-Sara, in a firm tone. "You are _not_ going to screw this one up."

Her image nodded back, as if taking courage, and she turned her back on it and went out.

Grissom was just closing his phone as she emerged. "Aunt Susan is thrilled that you're coming," he said with dry humor. "It's a good thing you're hungry."

Grissom's mother apparently didn't drive; he swept them both into his rental, Rosalie taking the back seat over Sara's protests, and they were at his aunt's before Sara had time to get too sleepy. She was quite capable of staying up later...as long as she got some food soon. The smells emerging when the front door of the big house opened reassured her that something good was in the offing, but she suddenly wondered if Grissom had warned his aunt that Sara was a vegetarian.

Susan was as short as Grissom's mother, but round as a dumpling, and in Sara's estimate almost ten years younger than Rosalie. She welcomed Grissom with a kiss on the cheek and Sara with a warm handclasp, drawing all three of them into a high-ceilinged living room redolent with the odors of good cooking.

There were other people there; Sara was introduced as "Gil's friend," and filed names and faces away for later perusal. A soda was pressed into her hand, and she managed to snag a handful of chips from a bowl on a side table, and she nibbled and sipped in between friendly questions and watching people interact. It was an elderly gathering, on the whole, she realized; she and Grissom were among the youngest people there.

Another couple arrived, about Grissom's age, and not long after that his aunt came into the living room without the apron she'd been wearing earlier to announce that dinner was served. As they trooped into the dining room, Susan put a hand on Sara's arm. "Gil tells me you're a vegetarian," she said, and waited for Sara's nod. "So are Marlee and Jason," and she pointed to the couple that had arrived last. "All the side dishes have no meat; do you eat eggs?"

Sara glanced past her at the heavily laden table, and smiled down at the little woman. "I love deviled eggs," she said, and Susan smiled back, patting her arm.

"Well, then, you're all set, just enjoy, dear."

The seating was a little crowded with ten, but Sara had been placed next to Grissom near the end of the long table, and that was what mattered to her. Rosalie was opposite, back up near the head next to her sister, which worried Sara for a moment, but it seemed that most of the guests knew at least some ASL and didn't require Grissom to translate. Sara concentrated on choosing from the many dishes that were passed along; the centerpiece of dinner was a huge glazed ham, but no one commented when she didn't take a slice.

"Are you doing okay?" Grissom asked in a low voice when grace had been said and people were first lifting their forks. Sara looked up from the roll she was buttering and smiled at him.

"I'm fine," she said. "It all smells great."

Grissom nodded, and the look in his eyes was the same helplessly reverent one he'd worn earlier, just after she'd kissed him. She put a hand under the tablecloth and squeezed his thigh gently, trying to reassure rather than tease, and for a moment his own covered it warmly; then he was turning to accept a dish of green beans.

As Sara's blood sugar rose, she was able to observe more carefully. This was Grissom's family, apparently--Susan and her husband Jack, and another aunt and uncle, both sets about ten years younger than Rosalie; a lone aunt, though it was not clear to Sara whether she had been married and was now divorced or widowed, or whether she had always been single; and the younger couple, who were not blood relations at all, but had been best friends with one of Grissom's cousins who was now deceased. References were made to other family members who lived elsewhere, but while there were several ongoing conversations that made no sense to Sara as an outsider, the other guests made an effort to talk to her. They were pleasant and friendly, Sara concluded, chatting lightly with Marlee on her other side; a little reserved, but definitely nice.

It was such a new experience for Sara. Not just the underlying curiosity that these people were expressing, given that this was apparently the first time Grissom had ever brought anyone home for Christmas, but the fact that it was the first true family dinner she'd been to since she was eight years old, bar the last couple of years with Ed and his kids.

_And nobody's screaming at this one,_ she thought dryly, remembering a few memorable holidays from her childhood. _Yet, anyway._ But it didn't look as though anyone would, either. Wine was served with the meal, but no one was drinking to excess, and in fact she had a hard time imagining any of these stolid people hurling plates.

There was coffee after dinner, and conversation, and eventually dessert; Sara and Marlee both passed on the mince pie with shared grins, while Grissom shot them a teasing look and took a healthy serving; but there was apple pie as well.

Halfway through dessert, Grissom leaned over to murmur in Sara's ear. "Mass isn't a requirement--if you'd rather go back and go to bed, I can run you back to Mom's place beforehand."

Sara swallowed a bite and shook her head. "No, I'd like to go. I've never been to a Mass."

The church was glowing with lit candles, and full of people when they arrived. Sara looked around, admiring the architecture; the church wasn't very old as such things went, only about fifty years, but the builders had made it soar with stone and glass. She stuck close to Grissom; he had offered his arm to his mother, with an apologetic glance at Sara, who had merely grinned back. Rosalie used a cane and it was obvious that her balance wasn't what it once had been.

Sara thought she'd have to tease him a little, later, once he got them all settled in a pew--he looked so immensely pleased with his seat companions, his mother on his left and Sara on his right. His hand dove for hers as soon as they were seated, fingers lacing firmly with her own, and Sara returned his grip happily, needing the reassurance as much as he.

She was so tired. She was running three hours later than everyone else, and while she could easily stay up for three shifts straight if she had a case to work, just sitting in the warmth and soft light, with Grissom's shoulder to lean against, made her very sleepy. Sara didn't think she actually fell asleep--not to the point of relaxing or snoring, thankfully--but she did zone out from time to time during the service, coming back to full awareness when the congregation sang a hymn or carol. If she had been more alert, she would have been embarrassed, but somehow it didn't seem to matter, with Grissom smiling at her whenever she glanced at him and the beautiful music filling the sanctuary.

Two interpreters at the front signed the service to the congregation, something Sara observed with interest when she was aware enough. She'd seen some people signing when they'd come in; Grissom had mentioned that the church had a Deaf congregation that usually held separate services, but often mixed for holidays. It also interested her to note that when Rosalie sang the hymns without often hitting the correct key, no one around them so much as blinked. Sara spotted a Deaf couple across the aisle and two pews up who signed the songs; pointing them out to Grissom, she asked quietly why Rosalie didn't do the same.

"She does sometimes," he whispered back, "but Christmas songs were always her favorites, and she prefers to sing them."

Sara nodded, thoughtful. She had never really thought about the differences between someone who had become deaf and someone who had been born that way.

Movement woke her up some more after the service. She and Grissom were displayed--there was no other word for it, Sara decided--to any number of other people, Rosalie beaming with pride in her son. Grissom seemed used to it, Sara realized as he shook hands and returned greetings with courtesy if not enthusiasm.

She almost fell asleep again on the drive back to Rosalie's apartment, and Grissom showed her to the guest room down the hall as soon as they arrived. "They changed the sheets," he said, sounding relieved, as he let her in. "Let me just grab my stuff and I'll get out of your way."

Sara looked around the bland, comfortable room. Grissom, anticipating a week's stay, had spread out his belongings. She stifled a yawn. "Why don't you get what you need for tonight, and just leave the rest? We can fix it in the morning."

Grissom pursed his lips, considering, and then nodded and gathered his kit from the bathroom and a few pieces of clothing, tumbling them into an empty shopping bag. Feeling slightly absurd, Sara saw him to the door.

They stared at each other in the entranceway, neither quite willing to say goodnight. Grissom lifted a hand and cupped her face once more, his touch gentle. "Are you really here?" he asked softly.

Sara covered his hand with hers. "I think so," she answered, feeling a little giddy with exhaustion and exhilaration. Grissom shook his head slightly, and leaned in, kissing her gently--the merest brush of lips, slow and light, as though he feared to be pushed away.

Hungry for the touch, Sara returned it with more pressure, craving the taste of him. For a minute or so they stood, oblivious to their surroundings, until a loud "harrumph" broke into their concentration. A bent old man gripping a walker was making his slow way down the corridor. "Break it up, kiddies," he said genially, and Sara felt herself flush a little even as Grissom's ears turned pink.

They let him pass; as he moved away around the corner, Grissom turned back to Sara. "I don't want to leave you," he said, hand still curved around her neck. "I...I just don't."

Sara sighed. "I know what you mean," she answered. It all felt so fragile, as though parting would crack their new bond. "But I need sleep, and your mother's waiting for you."

Grissom nodded, eyes not leaving her face; then his thumb stroked over her cheekbone, his lips touched hers once more, so quickly that she barely had time to register it, and he was gone down the hallway. Sara watched him go, his stride rapid and uneven, and let the smile spread when he turned to wave just before entering his mother's apartment.

Tshe shut the door and barely managed to take off her clothes before falling into bed. Even the fantastic events of the day didn't keep her awake.

**See Chapter 13**


	13. Chapter 13

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

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Grissom woke with a feeling of anticipation that was familiar, but when he considered it he realized that the last time he'd felt this way on Christmas morning had been about forty years previous. _The edge of delight,_ he though happily, shifting his shoulders on the mattress of the foldout couch, which was lumpy but bearable. He glanced over at the clock on the wall; it was only about seven-thirty. He knew his mother would soon be up to attend Mass again, and in fact, as he rolled over, he heard her door open and the bathroom door close.

Sitting up, Grissom stretched a little and scratched his beard. _I know last night was real, _he thought with dry humor. _Otherwise, I'd be sleeping in the guest apartment. But it doesn't **feel** real._

He'd resigned himself to a Christmas without Sara--to have her turn up and surprise him like that--_I imagined it, but I didn't know. I couldn't know how good it could really be. _

Shaking his head, Grissom stood, stretching out the stiffness and then stripping the sheets from the bed so he could fold it back into the couch. He piled the sheets on a chair for the moment and padded into his mother's kitchenette to start some coffee. The elderly machine sputtered, and Grissom eyed it with disfavor, but took heart in the knowledge that one of the gifts Rosalie would unwrap later was a brand new one.

_I wonder if Sara's awake yet?_ He knew she didn't sleep much, but she'd been palpably exhausted the night before. _Maybe I should go check. _He glanced down at the holey t-shirt and worn sweats he was using as pajamas. _Maybe I should get dressed first._

The coffee machine wheezed to a stop, and Grissom poured himself a cup; as he heard the bathroom door open, he poured another. Rosalie, wrapped in a thick velvety robe but her hair coiffed, came into the kitchen and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning," she signed.

Grissom passed her the cup and signed back. "Merry Christmas, Mom."

Rosalie took a sip and then set the mug aside. "Is Sara up yet?"

He shook his head. "I haven't looked."

"Well, take the girl out for breakfast or something while I'm at Mass, and then we can open gifts later. Don't take her downstairs, the breakfast here--"

"Is terrible, yes, Mom." It wasn't really, but it wasn't wonderful, and Rosalie grumbled about it constantly. Grissom actually considered that a good sign--there was nothing _worse_ for her to complain about. "Don't you want me to go to Mass with you?"

She gave him a sharp look. "And leave her here by herself? Don't be rude, Gil. The van leaves for church in half an hour." Sniffing audibly, Rosalie picked up her cup again and sailed back to her bedroom. Chuckling, Grissom found the shopping bag he'd filled the night before and headed for the bathroom.

When he emerged, wearing a polo shirt and slacks, the apartment was empty; he filled another cup with coffee and added sugar and half-and-half before heading down the hall to the guest room. The short trip was long enough to let doubt in; he began to wonder how large a part fatigue had played in Sara's decision the evening before, and just how awkward this first meeting would be…

Grissom knocked quietly on the door, lightly enough that he hoped not to wake her if she were still asleep, but within seconds it opened, revealing a Sara up, dressed, and sparkling. Her grin--how he'd missed that grin, the last three years--was wide and full, and before he could say a word she'd drawn him into the room. Grissom had just enough time to set down the cup on the small table by the door before his arms were filled with her.

Awkwardness wasn't even a question, and Grissom abandoned worry as he felt Sara's hands slide into his hair and her lips land on his. The kiss was warm and enthusiastic, a delighted sharing; by the time they pulled apart, his confidence had returned. "Good morning to you too," he said, a little breathless.

"Merry Christmas," she said again, and gave him one more quick kiss before pulling away and picking up the cup. "Ooh, thanks."

The fact that she walked away seemed to be his cue to step deeper into the room, so Grissom did so, a little bemused at the changes wrought. His belongings, though neat, had been spread out over several surfaces the night before; they were now stacked tidily on the small desk the room boasted. Sara's suitcase was open on a chair, and while there were no other items placed around, the room was somehow permeated by the scent of her, apples and warmth. A hint of steam in the air told him she had recently gotten out of the shower, though the hair under his fingertips when he'd kissed her had been dry.

It occurred to him hazily that if anyone else had moved his stuff, even Rosalie, it would have annoyed him; but it was Sara, so it was fine.

She sat down on the bed, which she'd made, and drank, smiling at him over the rim of the cup. Grissom stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly both amused and shy. "I can't quite believe this is real," he commented.

Sara snorted. "Join the club," she said dryly, and put the cup down on the nightstand, patting the bedspread beside her with her other hand. Grissom walked over and sat down, hooking one knee up onto the mattress to face her.

But she surprised him, sliding closer with a twist of her hips that pushed his leg off again, and then she put her head on his shoulder and burrowed close. Touched, Grissom held her tightly, suddenly knowing with the insight that he sometimes had into her thoughts that she wasn't as confident as she appeared--that she needed reassurance as much as he, if not more.

_And just whose fault is that?_

He pulled her a little closer, and they were still for a while, just absorbing. It felt so good, Grissom thought, to hold her at last without reservations; so _good_ to savor the press of her body against his, the way her head fitted so neatly beneath his jaw when she bent her neck

_How could I have ignored this need? How could I have pretended it didn't matter? _

Well, regrets were useless, as Catherine would have pointed out. The best thing he could do now was make it up to Sara with all that was within his power. He'd gotten his second chance; there was no way he was going to waste it.

After a while Sara sighed, and pushed away enough to look at him, but before she could speak Grissom captured her lips with his own, trying to put as much of his thoughts and feelings into the kiss as possible. She made that soft little sound again, the one that stirred both his heart and his groin, and let him kiss her.

When he broke it she was smiling, a small dreamy smile that mixed smugness and bliss. "I always knew you'd be good at that," she remarked before opening her eyes.

"Why, thank you, Ms. Sidle," he deadpanned, then cocked his head to consider her at close range. "Are you hungry?"

The laughter in her eyes told him she caught the dual meaning of the statement, but her smile became demure. "People are always telling me I should eat breakfast."

Grissom let her go and rose, holding out a hand to help her stand. "I consider it my official mission to feed you, then. Mom's gone to morning Mass, and I'm under orders to take you out to breakfast."

It being Christmas morning, many places were closed, but the local Waffle World was welcoming customers, so they went there. It was a quiet meal, with Sara mostly talking about work and Grissom telling her a little more about his mother. Nothing unusual for them, except that their hands kept linking somehow, creeping across the table while they weren't paying attention. Grissom found himself losing his train of thought on occasion as he just watched Sara, disbelief and triumph dueling behind his eyes. _She really is mine. She really chose me. _

Judging from the dazed little smile that kept flitting across Sara's face, he wasn't alone in wonderment.

**X**

Grissom ordered a bag of muffins to go, and took it with them for Rosalie. Sara watched him as he pulled bills from his wallet for the check, absorbed as she had so often been before in the deft, unconscious grace of his hands; it was a strange feeling to realize that if she wanted to reach out and hold one, she could, with no barriers or mixed signals to worry about.

In a way, it was tremendously freeing to have made her decision. _Ed was right. The real reason I was holding back was me._ Grissom had brought doubts with him when he'd stumbled back into her life, but he'd proven himself several times over since.

_Now...it's time to prove **us**._

Grissom pulled her arm through his as they left the restaurant, even though his car was mere yards away, and Sara found herself grinning a little foolishly. "Careful, Griss, or I might think you're feeling possessive," she teased lightly.

Grissom glanced over at her, lips twitching. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not as long as I get equal time."

He unlocked the car, and opened the passenger door for her. "Feel free to possess me whenever you like," he said with mock solemnity, handing her into the seat and making her laugh.

They found Rosalie in the lobby with friends when they got back to the facility, and once again were displayed. Rosalie again glowed with restrained pride as she introduced them to person after person, and Grissom shot Sara another apologetic glance as they shook hands fragile and crabbed with age. She pursed her lips at him, a silent signal that she didn't mind. Sara knew Rosalie didn't get to see her son often--why shouldn't she show him off?

Eventually, though, they escaped upstairs, when Grissom reminded his mother gently that she needed to eat breakfast. As they reached Rosalie's apartment door, Sara halted.

"I'll be right back--I need to get something," she said carefully, making sure that Rosalie could see her face. The Grissoms nodded, and Sara slipped back down the hall to the guest apartment to collect the packages she'd brought with her. She'd given Grissom his main gift before he'd left, yes, but there were a number of smaller things she'd been saving until he got back, and the day before she'd made enough time in her tearing hurry across the country to pick up a small gift for his mother.

In addition, there was Grissom's own gift to her; haste had kept her from opening it, and now she was intensely curious as to its contents.

Dropping the items on the bed, she pulled out her cellphone and hit the speed dial, smiling as Ed's voice answered. "Whoa. You must've really slept in."

"Not exactly," she replied. "But I'll tell you about it later, I'm just calling to say Merry Christmas."

"To you too, sis," came the cheerful reply. "Hang on a sec, I'll get the spawn."

There was a moment's pause while her small relations were summoned, and then Joey was squeaking excitement over the _humongous_ truck he'd received. After his effusions came Kimmy's slightly calmer glee.

"Thank you sooo much, Aunt Sara!" In her mind's eye, Sara could see Kimmy bouncing up and down as she spoke, and had to laugh. It had been such a simple matter to arrange.

"Hey, I always wanted to learn to ride a horse when I was a kid. Now you can teach me once you learn." She was a little sorry to have missed the look of surprise and delight on Kimmy's face when she'd opened the envelope promising riding lessons, but-- _That's life. At least I can give her what I didn't get. _

Sara listened to Kimmy babble on a moment longer about her other gifts, and then Ed got the phone back. "Next thing you know she'll be demanding her own pony," he complained, though Sara knew his heart wasn't in it.

"That would have happened anyway," Sara pointed out. She wasn't about to take his dismay seriously; while her own gift had been the lessons, Ed had supplied the necessary equipment, including gift certificates for a helmet and proper riding boots.

"This is true," he said peaceably. "Look, they're gearing up for a game of Ultimate here, I gotta go."

Sara grinned. "Me too. Take care of yourself and I'll see you next week, okay?"

"Deal," Ed answered. "Say hi to Doctor G for me when you talk to him, 'cause I know you will."

Sara held back a snicker. "I'll do that."

When she returned to Rosalie's apartment, she was greeted by the scent of fresh coffee wafting out through the door, which was slightly open. Sara pushed it wide and looked in; Rosalie was seated in her armchair with a plate of the muffins, talking to her son in between bites. The movement apparently caught her eye, for she looked up and smiled, gesturing. "Come in," she said loudly.

Sara slipped inside and shut the door, smiling back but still feeling uncertain. Grissom signed to his mother, and rose from the couch. "Be right back, Mom."

Sara held out her bag to him a little awkwardly as he approached. "Um. Presents."

Grissom raised both brows. "Go ahead and put them under the tree. Do you want some more coffee?"

"No, I'm good." _Under the tree_ was something of a euphemism, Sara realized as she approached the corner that held the artificial fir; it was far too small to handle even the presents now set around it. She added her own to the stash.

When she straightened, Rosalie waved her again to the couch. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very," Sara answered in sign, that being one of the words she'd learned so far, but went on with her voice alone. "It's a comfortable room."

Grissom came back from the kitchenette with his mother's refilled cup and set it down on the side table next to her chair, then took his seat next to Sara. It was a fairly wide couch, it had to be to accommodate the pull-out bed, but somehow he managed to place himself so that their thighs were brushing--not so close as to crowd her, but close enough to touch.

It felt great.

Sara kept her delight to herself, and chatted lightly with Rosalie and Grissom as his mother finished her muffin. It was fascinating, Sara realized, to see how much more open Grissom's face became when he was signing; it was necessary for communication, but it also offered a glimpse of him that she had not seen often. Then Rosalie tapped her lips daintily with a napkin, folded it and set it down, and pointed at her son.

Grissom rose again, to crouch next to the tree and begin distributing packages. Sara watched, a little bemused, as he sorted them into three groups, one for each of them; in the Sidle household, unwrapping was done in turns, with the person who had last opened one choosing the next from under the tree. But apparently the Grissoms had a different tradition. Sara sat for a minute or so after Grissom rejoined her, watching as Rosalie carefully peeled the paper from a tall box that turned out to hold a new coffeemaker, and Grissom opened a package of barbecue-flavored roasted mealworms. He immediately unsealed the box and popped a few in his mouth. "I'd offer you some," he said to Sara, a little indistinctly, "but I'm assuming your vegetarianism extends to Class _Insecta._"

"You're so right." Sara carefully did not look closely at the contents of the box, though the grubs at least lacked…legs. Rosalie was also not watching, Sara noticed.

At last she turned to her own small pile. Grissom had apparently had the same idea as Sara; the one she had brought with her had been augmented by two more with Grissom's handwriting, and one with Rosalie's. She picked up one from Grissom and started removing the paper, curious.

It was a pair of high-quality headphones, the kind she'd mentioned wanting for work, so she could listen to evidence tapes or music without disturbing her colleagues. "Oh, sweet! Thanks," she said, beaming at Grissom.

He squeezed her hand and picked up one of her gifts to him in turn, nothing more than a leaf-patterned envelope, but when he opened it a surprised smile bloomed over his face. "Thank you," he said softly.

Rosalie poked him gently with one foot. "Let me see," she demanded, and Grissom handed over the card that Sara had placed in the envelope. On it she had written _Good for one tarantula when you're ready for a new one._

Grissom's mother laughed, and handed back the card. "You've got his number, dear, that's for certain."

They kept opening. Rosalie and Sara each gave the other a gift card for Borders, which made them all laugh again; Sara had also brought a praying mantis mousepad for Grissom, and Rosalie gave him a handful of opera CDs and--apparently to his surprise--a framed abstract that she had owned for years. "You've always liked it," she told him loudly. "You should have it."

Grissom had also gotten Sara a new subscription to the _Journal of Forensic Sciences_, but before she could thank him again he was unwrapping her main gift to him. The nineteenth-century entomology book was not a true rarity, but the illustrations were splendid, and Sara had thought that it would interest him. Judging from his broad grin and instant absorption in the pages, she had been correct.

Rosalie leaned forward for a look at the book, then threw Sara a wink, which startled her, and signed something that took Sara a second to translate. _Good choice._

She smiled back at the older woman. _Thank you._

The overhead light began to flash on and off, and Rosalie pushed stiffly to her feet as Grissom raised his head. "Excuse me," she murmured, and walked off towards her bedroom.

Sara looked to Grissom for an explanation, and he shrugged. "Phone call. She keeps her TTY in the bedroom." He gestured to the low table in front of the couch. "You've still got one left."

It was the small heavy box that Sara had almost opened the day before. She picked it up, and Grissom frowned. "There should be a card with it."

"I opened it. That was, um, kind of what made me come out here."

"Oh." His ears were pinkening, but that adoring look was back. Flushing with pleasure, Sara looked down at the package, and slid a finger beneath the gold foil.

The box beneath bore the same sunburst logo as the box that had held her birthday present, but when she lifted the lid her mouth dropped open, because its contents were far from the casual necklace.

Sara set the lid aside and lifted the bracelet out. It was heavy and gleaming; links of silver were set with pillows of polished amber, its orange-gold translucency containing flecks and flaws. It was extravagant, rich, the sort of piece that one would build an outfit around, and she fell in love with it instantly. "Gil…this is…"

She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but Grissom saved her the struggle of finding words. "I saw it and thought of you."

_It's too much, it really is--but there's no way I can tell him that. _It was a gift of love, she knew that much--a symbol as much as a present, telling her that Grissom was entirely serious about this. _As if I didn't know by now._

Sara shook her head, and turned her arm to fasten it around her wrist. The catch was stiff, and Grissom leaned over to help, his deft fingers fastening it easily. The fit was slightly loose, but the color was perfect against her skin, making a light-catching and exotic statement.

"I knew it would suit you," Grissom said, his voice a little husky, and Sara looked up from her admiration of the golden gems to cup her other hand around his nape. Words might have failed her for the moment, but the kiss told him what she couldn't say.

**X**

He really couldn't remember being this happy. The simple delights of childhood, even filtered through memory, just didn't compare, and while Grissom knew that this overwhelming quiet joy would subside into a more manageable sweetness over time, he ignored the fact, choosing to savor while he could.

His mother had finished her phone call and lain down for a nap, and while Grissom had suggested a walk, somehow he and Sara had never moved from the couch. Instead, they sat together, Grissom half-reclining against the arm with Sara half on top of him, and shared slow lazy kisses, learning the texture and flavor of each other.

In truth, he hadn't known it was possible to be this happy. He'd managed to be content a large part of his life, secure in his work and routines and friendships. Loneliness had been a part of him for so long that he rarely even thought about it as an adult, simply accepting it as the way things were for him. His few attempts to alleviate it had not gone well.

Sara Sidle had torn a hole in his bubble of contentment, making him aware for the first time since adolescence how deep and hungry yearning could be. And after years when shy hope turned to hopelessness, when all his chances had seemed lost beneath the weight of his self-doubt, now his heart was aching with the glorious pain of a dream made real. The core of his need was rubbing her nose against his beard, setting her head down on his shoulder, sighing in--he hoped--equal bliss.

Grissom let his fingers tangle in her hair, so silky under his palm, and cradled her a little closer. Part of him wanted to keep them forever in this moment, together and at peace, before work or argument or some other disturbance interfered. Then Sara purred under his hand and he chuckled, delighted that such a simple touch could please her.

"Love the way you smell," she muttered, her fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. "Always have."

"It's just soap," Grissom felt compelled to point out, but Sara snickered.

"Soap and you. Secret ingredient."

Grissom shook his head a little, and stroked her hair again. "I love your hair," he said softly. "I've been wondering for years what it felt like, when it wasn't being whipped into a frenzy by a helicopter."

"It's just hair," she teased gently, then lifted her head so she could look him in the eye. It came to Grissom as he gazed at her that he'd never seen her look so happy either, but before he could pursue the thought she gave his chin a quick kiss.

"We are in serious danger of becoming sappy, here. I think I'd like to take you up on that offer of a walk."

Amused, Grissom sat up with her. "Do you really think that will save us?"

Sara snickered again. "Probably not. But honestly, the weather's so gorgeous compared to the East Coast that it seems a pity not to enjoy it."

"True." Sara beat him to standing and offered her hand to pull him up, and Grissom let her, not yet used to the idea that he could in theory touch her whenever he liked. "Let me write Mom a note, and we can go."

Sara was right; the day was warm enough to require nothing heavier than sweaters, and they wandered hand in hand along the marina for a while, sometimes talking and sometimes simply listening to the wind and the water. Eventually they reached the shoreline, and Grissom took Sara to the spot where he used to go for the best specimens for dissection. Perhaps fortunately, there were no candidates available that afternoon.

They chose a good flat boulder and sat again, and Grissom put his arm around Sara's shoulders and watched the sun glittering on the water. After a while, he spoke.

"When I was seventeen years old, I used to sit out here at sunset, if I wasn't working, and dream."

"About what?" Sara asked, hugging her knees.

"You." Grissom felt her puzzlement at that, and laughed a little, looking back at memory. "Not you by name, Sara, but the idea of you. At seventeen I was a total romantic." He sighed. "I was looking forward to the day when I would bring my true love to this beach and sit with her, and know that we meant more to each other than the juvenile pairings I saw at school."

A small shorebird hustled past their boulder, busily hunting something in the wet sand and ignoring them completely. "I didn't think it would take so long."

Sara shifted in the circle of his arm. "Well, you just had to wait for me to catch up," she pointed out practically.

"That's not what I meant, Sara. I..." He stroked the curve of her shoulder with his thumb. "If I hadn't been such an idiot, we could have been here five years ago."

Sara was silent for a few minutes, and when she replied, her voice was thoughtful. "I'm not sure we could have been. I still had to grow up some, and you--" She shrugged. "I don't think you were ready."

He considered that for a while. It wasn't flattering, but it did make some sense. "Maybe you're right," he said at last.

Sara let her knees go and put her arm around his waist. "To me, all that matters is that we're here. We made it."

"We did," Grissom agreed. "And you're far more than I imagined then, believe me."

Sara chuckled and leaned her head on his shoulder, and they sat in silence for a while longer before deciding it was time to head back.

As they followed their footprints in the sand back to the road, Sara stopped and turned, and Grissom halted to see what she was doing. She faced the rock, and lifted one hand in a wave to the empty beach. "Keep dreaming, kid," she called softly. "You'll get there."

_This is why I love her._

Deeply moved, Grissom took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Twice--once for himself and once for the lonely boy in his past.

**X**

They ate dinner in the dining room of Rosalie's facility, early that evening; the big room was decorated for the season, and Grissom and Sara weren't the only visitors joining the residents at the tables. Sara was amused to observe as much intrigue, gossiping, and subtext as in any high school lunchroom, though she hoped it was without the malice that she remembered from adolescence. The vegetarian options were scanty, but the salad bar was decent, and she based her meal on that.

Grissom and Rosalie did most of the talking, and Sara was content to sit and observe for the moment. Rosalie didn't eat much, a habit that obviously bothered Grissom somewhat, but his gentle bullying didn't seem to have much effect on his mother. Sara watched, and wondered what it would be like if her own mother were still alive to be fussed over--and whether Sara would want to, after all this time.

_Moot point. _The thought held only an old twinge now; reforming a family with her brother had eased some of the pain of loss and terror from her childhood. And it was...nice...to be _ordinary_ for a while this way, to experience a little of what it could be like in a family not torn apart.

_Well, he did lose his father. But he and Rosalie seem to have a pretty good relationship. _Sara speared a crouton with her fork and watched Rosalie giggle as Grissom teased her. _And it's fascinating to see him so relaxed._

They skipped the carol singing after dinner and went upstairs for, as Rosalie put it, "cookies and conversation". "Tell me about your family, dear," she said almost as soon as they were seated, and Sara found herself not only describing her brother and niece and nephew, but fetching the photos from her wallet. After a while she coaxed Rosalie into telling stories about Grissom as a child, much to his embarrassment, and then Rosalie made him fetch her a couple of photo albums.

It was delightful to see at last the young Gil whom Sara had imagined, and she'd been right--she saw an impish little boy with brown curly hair, a lanky young man with serious eyes and a quirky smile. Sara saw baby photos and graduation photos, and even at the back of one album a few from the Vegas lab--Catherine looking startlingly young, Grissom looking mischievous, a woman Sara didn't know who had apparently been the nightshift coroner before Robbins decided he liked that shift best.

Sara shook her head over a picture of Brass with more hair and less humor. "He doesn't look very happy."

"He wasn't," Grissom confirmed. "Jim's always been a friend, but he didn't really like running the lab's nightshift, and it showed."

"How is he?" Rosalie asked. "He was so nice when I was last there."

"He's doing well. He's reconciled with his daughter, and the last I heard he was actually dating someone, though he wouldn't tell me who."

The last photo in the album was a group shot, one Sara recognized as having been taken for the lab newsletter soon after she'd been hired.

"You all look so happy," Rosalie commented, and it was true--they were all smiling at the camera, even Grissom, though he looked impatient to be back to work. Sara felt a pang as she remembered the first year in Vegas. The shift was split now, and there were new people she'd never met on nightshift, and as for herself--

_Things change. I did what I had to do. And look where it's finally got me... _

Rosalie went to bed not long after that, and Grissom rummaged in her freezer and found them both some ice cream. "Is she usually this tired?" Sara asked as Grissom spooned the confection into bowls.

"She usually takes an afternoon nap, but she doesn't usually go to bed so early," he said judiciously. "But the holidays usually mean more excitement for her." He put the carton back in the freezer and came out to the living room with the two bowls, handing Sara one before sitting down next to her with a smile and picking up the TV remote. "Want to see what's on?"

They watched an old 1940s Christmas movie, having a little fun catching the incidences where the closed captioning didn't quite match the audio track, and simply enjoying being together. There was a certain triumphant pleasure, Sara found, in leaning back against Grissom and feeling his arm behind her head, of resting her hand on his thigh and listening to his somewhat acidic commentary on the film. Nothing heavy, nothing emotionally difficult--just the two of them, together, without tension or separation.

Just them.

_This really is the best Christmas I've ever had._

**See Chapter 14**


	14. Chapter 14

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**A light chapter this week; blame a perverse muse that decided I needed to write a short story instead of working on this. More thank-yous: ricker23a, serataja, DolphinAnimagus, drakien, DaVinci13, Wiccagirl24, jpsets, and everyone who's told me what they think. And here I thought I was nuts for starting an alternate-universe story packed full of OCs. **

**...Well, I am nuts. But apparently not for that reason. (grin)**

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When Sara woke, the sun was peeking in through a crack in the curtains of the guest apartment, and she rolled sleepily over to get away from it. But there was no returning to oblivion; generally, once she was awake, she was up.

_Oh well._ She yawned. _It's not like I haven't gotten plenty of sleep the last couple of nights. _

Stretching her arms over her head, she contemplated the ceiling for a minute, just enjoying the chance to relax and remembering the night before. She grinned. _I wonder if Gil ever woke up? _

They'd finished the ice cream and the movie, and had started watching another one that Sara had always meant to see, and about halfway through she had realized that Grissom had leaned his head back against the back of the sofa and fallen sound asleep. Smiling to herself, she had let him snooze until the film was over, but when she had tried to wake him, Grissom had promised to get up in a minute and promptly fallen back asleep. So she had tucked a throw pillow behind his head and rather shyly kissed his cheek, and had left him to sleep.

_I could have done something more drastic, I suppose, but he was fine the way he was, really. _Sara sat up slowly, pushing her hair back and yawning again. _Besides...he looked so **cute.**_ In sleep Grissom's face had relaxed, making him look absurdly young for someone with an iron-silver beard.

She took her time in the shower after realizing that it was only about seven, but she was used to getting ready quickly, and it was only forty-five minutes later that she was walking down the hall to Rosalie's door.

This time it was shut, but there was a little doorbell button next to it, so Sara pressed that. She heard no chime, but figured that it too was hooked up to the lights instead, like the telephone.

However, no one came to the door. Sara frowned, and after waiting about ninety seconds, she pressed the button again. _Maybe they're still asleep._

This time, after a moment, the door opened. Grissom stood on the other side, his hair wet and uncombed and his feet bare, looking entirely adorable except for his somewhat stressed expression. But his face lit on seeing Sara, and he stood aside to let her come in.

She turned as he closed the door, and gave him a smile, stepping forward. He leaned a little away. "I, uh, haven't brushed my teeth yet," he said ruefully.

Sara cocked her head. "I appreciate the information," she told him, "but I don't really care." This time when she approached he didn't move away, returning her kiss but keeping it brief.

_Okay, he worries about morning breath._ Sara filed the data away and gave him another smile. "Am I too early?"

Grissom glanced down the short hallway to Rosalie's bedroom, but shook his head. "No, Mom's up and getting dressed. She hates the breakfast here, so I was just going to fix some eggs."

"Why don't we go out? My treat," Sara suggested.

He smiled at her. "Susan's coming by in a little while. Tomorrow, maybe?"

Sara shrugged. "Sure. Is there something I can do, then?"

"Just help yourself to coffee."

Sara watched him pad down the hall to the bathroom and complied, noting that the new machine was already up and running, and wondering if it were Grissom or Rosalie who had set it up.

Cup in hand, she wandered around the small space, examining the details that she hadn't had an opportunity to explore before. The paintings on the walls were the focus of the room, bright cheerful colors and simple shapes, but everything else was a little cluttered; Sara suspected that Rosalie had found it difficult to winnow her belongings when she'd moved into assisted living. There were framed photographs on a buffet cabinet--mostly of Grissom at different ages--and magazines in a neat stack next to the wing chair; everything was dust- and smudge-free, indications of a good cleaning staff, and all the décor was in superb taste.

After a few minutes Grissom reappeared, hair smoothed into place, and began assembling breakfast. Sara drifted over to watch him and finagled him into letting her make toast, and they were pleasantly occupied in the small space when Rosalie came out.

It rather surprised Sara to see that Rosalie was wearing a green skirt and a bright pink top; the colors clashed badly. _But maybe when you're eighty-plus you decide you can wear what you want,_ Sara thought, returning Rosalie's cheerful greeting.

The eggs were good. Rosalie did most of the talking, bouncing rapidly from subject to subject; it seemed to irritate her son a little, though he was doing his best to hide it. Sara munched toast, and wondered if the stress of living in close quarters was getting to Grissom slightly. _He doesn't have any place to go to be alone,_ she realized. _Maybe we could trade beds tonight. _But she doubted he'd agree.

Before they were quite done with breakfast, the overhead lights flashed in a faster pattern then they had for the phone, and Grissom rose to open the door. Susan stood on the other side, clutching an enormous handbag and beaming.

"Hello, Gil dear, hello Sara, Rosalie." She bustled in signing and speaking, and went over to press her cheek to her sister's. "I'm early again."

Sara glanced over at Grissom, raising her brows in a "what's up" gesture, and he shrugged.

"Friday is art day--Mom and Susan go out to a museum or a gallery show. I, uh, figured we could go along, if you like." He scrubbed at his beard with one hand, a sign of nervousness that Sara unexpectedly found even more adorable.

_Oh, you are **so** far gone._

"Gil," Susan protested, "you two should spend some--"

Sara overrode her politely. "That sounds great. It's not something I have a lot of time to do at home." Which was true, and moreover, it did sound interesting. Spending time with Grissom was her first priority; if it was spent looking at artwork, that was fine, there was always something to engage her attention.

Rosalie clapped her hands firmly. "That's settled, then. Susan, get yourself some coffee while we finish up."

As Grissom sat back down, his hand sought Sara's. "Thank you," he murmured as his mother's gaze was elsewhere.

Sara squeezed his fingers gently. "You came to see her," she pointed out practically. "Me you see almost every day."

He threw her a slightly exasperated look, but she just grinned back, and eventually he smiled ruefully.

**x**

Between them, Grissom and Rosalie talked Susan into going to the Natural History Museum instead of the Museum of the American West, despite Susan's insistence that it was a necessary cultural experience. To Grissom's great relief, Sara seemed amused and interested by the argument and choice, rather than annoyed. He himself was torn between a genuine desire to spend time with his mother and aunt, and a guilty wish to ditch them both and take Sara off somewhere that was lacking in relations.

_You did want her to come and meet Mom,_ he reminded himself as he maneuvered his rental car through traffic and glanced at the lanky brunette seated next to him. Her smile was warm and a little teasing, and he fought the urge to pull the car over and kiss her. Thoroughly.

W_hen I issued the invitation she hadn't made up her mind. _Traffic wasn't hindering his desire so much as the two elderly women in the back seat, who had abandoned verbal speech and were signing with each other with great fluidity and speed. Gossiping, he knew. _Probably about us._

Sara's fingers brushed over his hand where it rested on the gearshift. "Relax," she said. "We'll have a good time."

Somewhat to Grissom's surprise, she was right. They entered the museum together, but almost immediately split into two pairs, wandering along from display to display at their own paces and sometimes meeting up to share some particularly interesting exhibit. It was almost the perfect synthesis.

Rosalie insisted on buying them all lunch at the museum's café; Sara had a pita with a lot of sprouts hanging out of it, while Grissom had a more robust roast beef sandwich. _It's no wonder she stays so slender,_ he thought, eyeing her meal; _but then, she's put on a little weight since she left Las Vegas. Thankfully. _She had really been too thin then, as Ed had said; now she glowed with health.

It took Grissom a minute to realize that for the first time, he hadn't felt a pang on thinking back to Sara's departure. It wasn't hard to figure out why.

Susan surprised him at the end of the meal. "We're going shopping," she said firmly, gesturing at her sister. "Jack can come and pick us up when we're ready. You two go off and spend the afternoon together."

Taken aback, Grissom looked to Rosalie, but she merely raised her brows at him and followed it up with an old private sign they'd invented decades ago. _You'd better listen,_ it meant.

He glanced at Sara, who was looking amused again; she shrugged, turning one hand palm-up.

He gave in.

"So what do you want to do?" she asked him as they left the museum and the women behind. Grissom took her hand--still a small thrill, even after three months or so--and considered for a moment. Several ideas occurred to him, and he glanced over at his companion. She was dressed fairly casually, in jeans and sneakers and a deep plum t-shirt. Given that he too had opted for sneakers… "Want to go sailing?"

Sara stared at him, obviously surprised. "It's sunny, it's warm," Grissom continued, "and I know where we can rent a sailboat. You game?"

A huge grin spread over her face. "You are so on!"

The boat rental even sold sunscreen. Sara pulled her hair back into a ponytail as they walked along the dock, still grinning. "I haven't been sailing in years. I keep meaning to take the kids out to Annapolis, but I never seem to find the time."

"Me either," Grissom admitted, stepping carefully down into their assigned boat and reaching up to give Sara a hand in. "But I assume it will all come back to us."

Sara surveyed the well-used sail and lines. "No worries."

It was fantastic. They had a couple of glitches getting away from the dock and out into open water, but once they had the rhythm of working together, the sail caught the wind and they were flying. Grissom pushed his sunglasses up on his nose and watched Sara as she laughed into the cool air; the sun was glittering off the water, and to him she seemed to sparkle in it, more alive than anything he'd ever seen. The boat was a good one; they skimmed along smoothly, avoiding buoys and boats with equal ease.

He'd really forgotten how much fun sailing could be--the exhilaration of speed, the fresh air, the delight of being alive; not to mention the occasional thrill when the wind changed and their out-of-shape reflexes nearly tipped them over. Sara whooped as they wrenched the boat back onto an even keel, her face flushed above the bulk of her life jacket, and unable to help himself, Grissom slid forward in the tiny space until he could put a hand behind her head and kiss her.

Salt on their lips from spray, her hair warm from the sun, even the tiny click of their sunglasses colliding made it all unique and perfect. Incoherently Grissom wished that he could keep it all going forever--the kiss, the speed, the sun and wind and the brilliance of the day, and most of all Sara.

Then an instant later she was laughing against his cheek and pulling away to adjust the sail, and realization welled up in him. _There is always a chance for another perfect moment. _

**x**

They stayed on the water until the sun set, getting pink despite the sunscreen; when they finally left the dock, they were slightly sticky with a mixture of salt and sweat, and Sara's hair was thoroughly tangled, but she simply couldn't bring herself to care.

"That was amazing!" she declared, hooking her arm through Grissom's again. "I really have to get the kids out on the water."

"Ed doesn't sail?" Grissom asked, guiding them down the boardwalk.

"He used to, but Jenny got seasick, so he kind of quit doing it. Though, I know for a fact, Gracie loves the water." She snickered, picturing her brother and his housekeeper. "So it's probably a safe bet that he'll be back out there before too long."

"I take it he apologized?" Grissom asked, lips twitching a little, and Sara grinned back at him as they detoured to avoid a family with a double stroller.

"He groveled," Sara corrected. "Successfully, as far as I can tell. At least, he's not moping any more."

Grissom just laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." Being out on the water always made Sara ravenous. "What are you hungry for?"

"Lady's choice," Grissom said easily.

Sara looked at the array of eateries available down the long boardwalk. "Are you sure about that? I have this disgusting passion for junk food when I'm at the beach."

Grissom didn't look concerned. "I've been known to consume three hot dogs and an entire box of popcorn in one afternoon."

Sara's stomach rumbled. "Then let's go."

They made almost a buffet of it, choosing ears of corn at one place, batter-dipped fish sandwiches and French fries at another, and ice cream at a third. The calories were ridiculous, and Sara reveled in each one. She tended to eat healthy most of the time, half by preference and half because restaurant vegetarian options tended to be heavy on fruit and salad; but every once in a while it was bliss to simply throw prudence to the winds and devour foods whose resemblance to nutrition was sketchy at best. By the time the sun set they were stuffed full and tired; Sara was longing for a shower, but still riding on the absolute fun of the afternoon.

At Rosalie's building they parted and Sara got her shower. She got dressed in fresh clothes and dried her hair into semi-submission, and then went back down the hall. Rosalie answered the door with a smile and gestured Sara in.

"Tell me more about what you do," she asked as they sat down, and Sara complied, listening with one ear to the low hiss of the shower and wondering idly if Grissom had taken his clothes in with him, or if he was going to reappear in a towel.

Sara and Rosalie were discussing San Francisco's art museums when Grissom did emerge, fully dressed, and came to sit beside Sara as before. Rosalie smiled at her son. "Cecilia was just telling me about the Museum of Modern Art, she--"

Sara blinked at the wrong name, and Grissom corrected his mother with a set of sharp gestures. "_Sara,_ Mom."

Rosalie drew herself up with a touch of anger. "That's what I said." She turned back to Sara. "When were you last in the City?"

Sara hesitated, having given Rosalie that information just the day before, but answered. "I was back there on assignment last May."

She glanced at Grissom out of the corner of her eye, and was startled at the look of stifled misery on his face, an expression that he erased swiftly. "Mom," he said gently, "it's been a long day, and I think you're getting tired."

Rosalie lifted her chin in a gesture that was very familiar to Sara. "Don't tell me when I'm getting tired, Gil. I'm not so old that I can't make up my own mind."

Grissom's flinch was almost imperceptible. Thinking fast, Sara spoke up. "I'm a little tired myself, actually, we did a lot today." She smiled at Rosalie. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go back to my room."

As Sara expected, Rosalie's hostess instincts kicked in. "Of course, dear. You go ahead and we'll see you in the morning." She held out her hand, and Sara rose to take the fragile fingers in her own and press her cheek to the old woman's.

Grissom saw her to the door, and when his body was blocking Rosalie's view, Sara gave him a sober look. "I'll be up for a while."

He only nodded, and his eyes were sad.

Sara actually was tired, so she kicked off her shoes and sat back against the headboard with one of the books she'd brought with her, but she wasn't sleepy. It was a little hard to concentrate on the novel when she was making bets with herself on whether Grissom would actually stop by later, and after an hour she was almost ready to call him on his cellphone, but she held in the urge. _Don't push. _

But an hour and twenty minutes after she'd left Rosalie's apartment, there was a soft knock on her door, and Grissom was on the other side when she opened it. "C'mon in," Sara told him; the room had only one chair, so she returned to sit on the bed.

Grissom took the chair with a sigh, and Sara waited. After a moment of silence, she prompted him gently. "Alzheimer's?"

Grissom leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees, staring at them. "Probably, according to her doctor. The early stages."

Sara nodded. There was no conclusive clinical test for Alzheimer's as yet, but a diagnosis could be made after observation and testing.

"She's been losing memory since the spring," he went on. "The last couple of days have actually been fairly good, all things considered." He turned his linked hands up, as though examining them. "Pretty soon, she's going to have to move into a facility that provides more intensive care."

His words were calm, but Sara could see the pain in his hunched shoulders, the way he was containing his emotions. "Mom likes it here, so she's…resisting the idea."

Sara thought back to the expression on Rosalie's face when Grissom had corrected her. "Does she know she has it?"

Grissom shrugged. "Her doctor told her. I don't think she believes it."

Sara winced. That would only make it harder.

Grissom sat up and rubbed his hands on his pant legs. "I--"

Before he could go on, Sara swung her legs off the bed and stood, stepping across the two feet that separated bed and chair to hold out her hand. Grissom looked up at it, baffled, and Sara cocked her head. "C'mon."

She made him sit next to her on the double mattress, against the headboard, putting her arm around his waist, and after a minute Grissom relaxed. "Susan and Jack see her almost every day," he went on. "And the staff here is excellent. But I still…worry."

"Of course you do," Sara agreed. "It must be terrifying."

His breath of laughter had no humor. "At least."

Sara thought for a moment. "Have you considered moving back here?" The idea was unexpectedly disturbing, of suddenly being separated from Grissom by a continent; _but Rosalie has to come first. _

Grissom shook his head. "I've suggested it. Mom was furious; she says she doesn't want me to give up my life in Vegas." He stared down at his lap.

Her heart ached for him. It was a terror she didn't know, that of watching a beloved parent descend into fog and confusion, but she could imagine it. On impulse, she pulled him into an awkward hug.

"You're doing the best you can, Gil," she murmured. "She's happy, and she's safe, and she knows you love her."

Grissom sighed again, his arm tightening around her waist. "I know," he said. "I know."

And Sara had no words, so she just held him.

**See Chapter 15**


	15. Chapter 15

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

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"Aunt Sara!"

The thud of small feet on her staircase broke Sara's concentration, and she swung around in her chair with a grin as the door to her room opened and her nephew burst in. He was wearing a brand-new cowboy hat, but it fell off as she rose and scooped him up for a hug.

"Geez, Joseph, you're getting heavy!" She set him down after a good squeeze. "Did you have a good time at Grams' and Gramps'?"

"You gotta see my truck!" Joseph caught her hand and started towing her towards the stairs, and Sara laughed and let him do it. As he stopped to get his hat, Kimmy appeared in the doorway, and Sara let Joey go to collect a hug from her niece.

As they accompanied her down the stairs, chattering a mile a minute about their cousins, the plane trip, and the presents they'd received, Sara couldn't stop grinning. The townhouse had been so empty when she'd returned from California, and her loneliness at leaving Grissom had been redoubled by its silence. Now, however, the sound level was well on its way back to its proper level.

Back on the main floor, Sara knelt to admire the substantial Tonka dump truck that was Joseph's crowning glory this year; it was almost large enough for him to ride. As he showed her all the controls, Ed came lumbering up from the garage, laden with suitcases. "Hey, a little help here?" he called.

"How much sugar did you _give_ them?" Sara asked over the chattering as all three of them came over to relieve him of some of the weight. Ed rolled his eyes.

"Blame their grandmother. I thought the lunches she packed for the plane had cookies, but they had _fudge._" He shook his head in mock disgust as they carried the cases up to the bedrooms. "It's a good thing that the high didn't really hit until we actually got off the plane."

Sara laughed and followed him into the master bedroom, which was more of a disaster area than usual; she'd never known a time when Ed could pack neatly. It was fairly masculine in tone, three years after Jenny's death, but the focal point of the room was still the big painting over the bed--Ed, sound asleep in an armchair, cradling an equally asleep toddler Kimmy. The love Jenny had put into each brushstroke was palpable.

Ed set down the bags with a sigh, and held out his arms. "Hey, Merry Christmas."

She returned his warm hug. "I missed you guys."

"We missed you too. Everybody asked about you." Ed let her go, but cocked his head to regard her for a moment.

Sara raised her brows. "What?"

"Did you have a good time in L.A.?"

Her jaw dropped. "How'd you know?"

Ed snickered. "Oh please. Just because I'm oblivious most of the time doesn't mean I don't pay attention once in a while. You've got a little sunburn, and a look like a cat with an entire dairy full of cream. Which you _wouldn't _get from just a phone call to your boyfriend." Sara stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay. You also left the stub from your plane ticket on the hall table."

Sara started laughing, and swatted at him, but he ducked. "Hey, watch it, or I'll give you a noogie when you least expect it."

Ed started towards the door, but Sara put a hand on his arm, feeling a little shy. "Hey, Ed…thanks. It was good advice."

He glanced back, and gave her one of his quirky small smiles. "'Bout time," he repeated.

**x**

Fortunately for the adults' sanity, the sugar high wore off fairly quickly, buffered by dinner. The remaining presents were opened, and the drowsy kids were packed off to bed; Sara sent her brother along soon after when he started snoring in front of the TV. And in the end it was just her, sitting alone in the warm living room, enjoying the twinkle of the tree's colored lights and the sense that the house was back the way it should be.

And the voice on her phone.

"I miss you," was the first thing Grissom said when he answered her call. His voice was wistful, and Sara grinned at her mental image of him, back in the guest apartment in his mother's building.

"We just saw each other yesterday," she teased lightly, though she knew it had been hard for him, letting her go at the airport.

It had been hard for her, too, and she'd actually had to smear away a tear as she passed through the security checkpoint, sternly choking back any more.

"Doesn't matter," he answered. "Sara…I can hardly believe the last few days were real."

"They were," she assured him. "And you'll be, uh, back in a few days too."

"I wish I could have come with you." He sighed.

"Hey, you promised Rosalie you'd take her to see _The Lady's Not for Burning._ She told me twice how much she was looking forward to it."

"True." Humor warmed Grissom's voice. "And between the two of us, Susan and I are going to try to talk her into looking at a different care facility. Did everyone get back safely?"

Sara let him change the subject; for all that Grissom had told her what was going on, she knew he wasn't comfortable discussing it. "Yeah, loot in tow. They're all in bed now."

They chatted for a while, a little shy somehow. Sara kept remembering the last couple of days; on the twenty-seventh Grissom had driven Sara and Rosalie up into the hills to a winery for a tasting and a picnic, and on the twenty-eighth, yesterday, he had taken her to the airport so she could fly home. They hadn't had any real time together by themselves.

Sara hadn't let that bother her too much, though she had seen Grissom's hidden impatience now and then. After all, he would be coming back to Virginia soon. They would have time.

"I'll take you out to dinner when I pick you up on Friday," she promised.

He chuckled. "I can hardly wait. Ah…how's your neck?"

Sara couldn't help lifting a hand to her throat, even though the red tinge to her skin had faded. "It's fine now."

"I really am sorry," Grissom said, but Sara snickered. Beard burn was something she hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Yeah, sure you are. It's all gone, except for the memories."

He made a chuffing sound. "I'll admit to a small thrill of atavistic pleasure in seeing it," he admitted.

"Shut up or I'll bite you somewhere obvious," Sara threatened, grinning.

"Wherever you like," Grissom offered back, and she choked on a giggle. The flirting was twice as fun now that they were actually _together_.

It had been Saturday night that their kissing had gotten a little out of hand, and at the time Grissom's mouth on her skin had been quite pleasurable. But the next day had made her glad that she'd packed a turtleneck.

"I may hold you to that." Sara tilted her head back and pretended that Grissom was just across the room instead of the country.

He laughed, and for a moment they were silent, simply enjoying each other despite the distance between them. But the stillness was broken by a tremulous voice. "Aunt Sara?"

Sara sat up and looked behind her. Kimmy stood on the bottom stair, half-enveloped in a long purple unicorn nightgown, her face drawn. "Hold on a sec, Gil," Sara said, and tilted the phone away from her mouth. "What's wrong, kiddo? Nightmare?"

Kimmy nodded, wrapping her arms around her torso, and Sara nodded back. Kimmy's night horrors, legacy of her mother's death, were not something Sara took lightly; she knew too much about such things herself. "Gil, I'm sorry--"

"I heard," he broke in gently. "Go. I'll talk to you tomorrow night."

She sighed. "Thanks. Sleep well."

"You too," he said, and was gone with a click. Sara shut her own phone and pushed up off the couch, then set it aside so she could walk over to the stairs and hold out a hand to her niece. "C'mere."

It was the best treatment for the nightmares. Sara knew very well that if it had been an ordinary bad dream, Kimmy would merely have turned on the overhead light and read until she was sleepy again; the worse versions came infrequently, but required sterner measures to be beaten back. Sara, who had again and again wished that there were someone who would hold _her_ after one of her nightmares, enveloped Kimmy in a strong hug as the young girl launched herself into her aunt.

When Kimmy's shudders had tapered off, Sara planted a kiss on the crown of the dark head, noting with an odd pang that she didn't have to bend as far as she used to. "Let's go make some cocoa."

They heated milk to make the hot drink the old-fashioned way; Jenny had scorned instant cocoa, and Sara had to admit that the homemade kind did taste better. Kimmy dug out the small battery-powered frother and Sara shut the kitchen door to keep the sound from traveling up the stairs; Joey slept like the proverbial log, but Ed was a light sleeper. And with a conspiratorial grin, Sara found a can of leftover whipped cream in the fridge; a quick taste proved that it was still good, and the two of them used it lavishly.

They sat quietly for a while at the breakfast bar, growing chocolate mustaches, until Sara broke the silence. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Kimmy shrugged, a rather forlorn movement. "It's one of the ones I kinda can't explain."

Sara nodded. Some dreams had images that would be innocuous to any observer; it was the emotions and fears accompanying them that made them terrifying.

She observed her niece under cover of another sip of cocoa. Kimmy, going on twelve, was beginning the growth surge towards adolescence; her face was less round than it had been just six months before, and her fingers were longer. Sara wondered how Ed was going to cope with his daughter growing up.

_He's not the only one who'll have to cope,_ she reminded herself. _You're still in loco parentis around here…emphasis on the "loco". _

But it was a problem for later. Kimmy put down the big mug and turned it absently on the counter, staring at it as though her fortune could be read in the dregs. "It was a lot of things," she said finally. "Mostly the nuclear snow thing. But Mom was there too, and she was dead even though she didn't look like it." Kimmy's shoulders hunched. "She was screaming," she added miserably.

Sara held back a shudder of her own, and rose to go out to the living room. She came back with a photo from one of the bookshelves, Ed and Jenny together, Ed sticking out his tongue at the camera and Jenny laughing. Sara set the frame down flat on the counter in front of Kimmy and put her arm around the girl. "There she is," she said softly, knowing that the best way to banish the dream-image was to confront it with reality.

Kimmy sighed a little, and leaned against Sara. "I still miss her."

"You always will, a little," Sara agreed.

Kimmy nodded. After a moment, she spoke again. "You're going to leave us, aren't you? Go back to Las Vegas with Doctor G."

Sara quailed, though there was no anger in Kimmy's tone. "Sweetie, I don't know. We haven't talked about it yet." It was a subject that she wasn't ready to broach, for one thing. _We've only just--_

"It's okay," Kimmy said, and yawned. "I like Doctor G, he's nice."

"I think so too," Sara replied, relieved that her niece didn't want to get into a discussion just now. "Hey, finish your cocoa and I'll go upstairs with you."

"Okay." The fact that Kimmy didn't protest told Sara that the nightmare had faded enough to let Kimmy go back to sleep. Sara followed her up the stairs and sat on Kimmy's desk chair for the last part of the ritual--reading out loud until Kimmy was asleep again. When the girl's breathing evened out into sleep, Sara closed the book and thought for a while in the silence.

_What **are** we going to do? _

**xxxx**

Grissom sat on the same flat boulder that he and Sara had chosen a week before, and stared out across the water. The sun had long set, and the stars were out; the air was still and chilly, and he was gratefully for his thick sweater...not least because it still smelled faintly of Sara.

Rosalie was long since in bed; Grissom, unable to sleep, had left the guest room and walked down to the beach to listen to the quiet hiss of the tiny waves and brood.

His mother's condition wasn't far advanced yet, and she had finally agreed to choose among an array of facilities that were more nursing homes than retirement complexes. It was the culmination of a campaign that had begun in early summer, when the doctor had diagnosed her.

It was a relief, to have the agreement..._and Susan will see that she sticks to it..._but it was a bitter one. Grissom sighed, and scrabbled up a small chunk of stone from the boulder to toss in the water. It made a low plunking noise, though he could barely see the splash. He hadn't wanted Sara to find out.

_Idiot,_ he chided himself. _You couldn't have kept it from her forever. Besides, you asked her to come out here._

Yet somehow he'd believed, foolishly, that Rosalie's condition would not manifest itself in Sara's presence. And Sara herself had not drawn away, merely asked him for a little more information and offered him comfort he could barely bring himself to take.

_I guess I'm just not used to it yet. _

As they always did, his thoughts drifted to Sara exclusively, though instead of melancholy or hope they were now tinged with an incredulous joy; and even in his brooding his lips turned up. _I don't deserve her; I never did. _

_But by all that's holy, I intend to keep her._

For a little while he daydreamed, ignoring practicalities in favor of the vision of returning to Las Vegas with her by his side; to her walking into the lab to see him, and their friends' astonishment when they realized that she was his beloved at last. He dreamed again letting her into his--_their_--house, of watching her raise the shades, blow dust off the shelves, and distribute her lizard collection around the bedroom. _We could turn the second bedroom into an office for her,_ he thought. _The closet's full of boxes, but they could go in the garage._ It would leave no place for Ed and the kids to stay when they visited, of course, but his house wasn't up to three guests anyway. _There are lots of nice hotels off the Strip, and plenty to do that children would enjoy._

And Vegas was within a day's drive of Los Angeles, or a short plane ride.

_What if she wants to stay in Virginia? _the pragmatic part of his mind pointed out coolly. _She's got a career there, and a family, and a far more exciting life than she would have back in Nevada._

There was no question. _If she wants to stay, we stay._ He could retire early, or just find another job, though the consulting was working very well so far. He would be sorry to leave his team and his friends, but Sara was far dearer to him.

_If only I had figured that out years ago._

**xxxx**

Sara leaned against the wall across from the first baggage carousel, watching people crowd around it as it chugged to life, and pretended that she wasn't wound tight with anticipation of seeing Grissom again. _One thing about being tall--it's easier to spot people in a crowd._ Passengers came out from behind the security checkpoint in clusters, some hurrying off, others slowing to greet people waiting for them. Reactions ranged from cordial handshakes to hugs and tears; Sara watched a small child scoot across the floor to be snatched up into a grandmother's arms, followed by the happy, if frazzled, young parents, and snickered as she imagined Ed and his offspring arriving in Atlanta. The meeting had been much the same, she was sure.

Then she saw him, moving through the checkpoint behind a gaggle of military servicepeople in fatigues, his rocking stride distinctive. Sara couldn't help comparing this time to last August; his shoulders were no longer bowed, and while he looked a little tired, defeat had no part in it. And this time, she had no qualms at all about hugging him.

Grissom spotted her as she stepped away from the wall, and smiled in delight. As she neared, he set down his computer bag and pulled her into his arms, his mouth covering hers in a kiss tender enough to make her throat ache. "You look stunning," he murmured in her ear, and Sara laughed.

"It's just my work clothes," she teased, enjoying the way he fit in her arms.

Grissom shook his head slightly, and kissed her again, a quick press, before letting her go. "It's not the clothes, it's you."

Sara felt the flush heating her ears, and scooped up his bag before he could bend for it. He took it away from her with a look that was both stern and amused, and they walked over to the appropriate baggage carousel to wait for his suitcase.

It was so odd, Sara mused, to be standing in the circle of Grissom's arm while they waited; to lean a little into his shoulder and to feel his thumb rubbing absently against her hip as they people-watched idly. It had been years since she'd been in a serious relationship, and she honestly couldn't remember a time when she had felt so comfortable with a man. _Maybe it's because we already knew each other for so long._

_Maybe it's just because it's him._

She took him to the same French restaurant they had visited his first night in Virginia; it being Friday night, the place was busy. Sara exchanged kisses with Erik, the proprietor, and soothed his apologies over not having a free table by pointing out that she and Grissom were early for their reservation. "We'll wait in the bar," she told him.

Grissom put a hand on her arm as she turned towards the bar. "I need to use the restroom," he told her. "I'll join you in a minute."

"Sure. Here, give me that." Sara took his computer case and headed into the bar as he walked off in the opposite direction. The bar was a hollow square of polished wood, overshadowed by ranks of glasses hanging from racks, and was moderately crowded, but there were two free spaces on the far side. Sara took one tall stool and balanced the case on the other, ordering a Scotch for Grissom and a soda with lime for herself; she would have wine with dinner.

She was just unwinding the scarf from her neck when a familiar voice spoke beside her. "Hello, Sara."

Slightly startled, Sara turned to see Frank Delladesmonde standing beside the empty stool. She grinned up at him.

"Hey, Frank. I didn't know you knew about this place."

"I come here for business sometimes." He smiled. "You know, I was trying to reach you before Christmas, but your brother said you were busy."

Sara blinked, and made a mental note to discuss call screening with Ed. "Yeah, I was, kind of. Major case at work."

He put his hands in his pockets, still smiling. "I wanted to ask you over for Christmas dinner."

Sara pursed her lips, suddenly realizing that the gentle flirtation that Delladesmonde had been wont to use with her was no longer really appropriate. She had been willing to flirt back in the past, and she was genuinely fond of Petra, but she'd never been moved to go any further than the casual friendship they shared…rather to Delladesmonde's disappointment. "Actually, I was out of town, but it was kind of you to think of me," she said easily.

He nodded, rocking a little on the balls of his feet. "Sara, I was wondering--"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Grissom said lightly behind her, and bent to press a quick kiss on Sara's cheek. Delladesmonde straightened, and as she had a month before, Sara could all but smell the sudden testosterone in the air.

She was torn between annoyance and amusement. It wasn't often that Grissom's competitive nature came out, and it was always interesting to see. On the other hand, she'd seen Delladesmonde playing volleyball at church picnics, and he didn't take losing well. "Doctor Grissom," he said in a cool voice.

Grissom gave him an equally cool look back, but fortunately for Sara's temper, did nothing so obvious as touch her. "Good to see you again."

"How's the epiphany going?" Delladesmonde asked, politely enough, but Sara's humor fled. _He'd better not be stupid about this. _

She could sense Grissom going stiff beside her, but his answer was cordial. "Quite well, thank you. I'm very grateful."

Not wanting Delladesmonde to dig himself any deeper, Sara took Grissom's hand--not a subtle move, but she really didn't want things to degenerate. "Gil just got back from the West Coast, so we decided to stop here for dinner." She looked up at the other man, her smile polite. "How's Petra doing?"

Delladesmonde's gaze focused on their joined hands for a long moment, then flicked up to her face, and she was a little taken aback at the sadness in his eyes. "She's well," he answered. "She got all As on her last report card. Ah…excuse me." With a nod, he turned and walked away, back around the corner of the bar.

Sara winced a little. Beside her, Grissom blew out a breath, and let her hand go to set his bag on the floor and take the stool. His expression was grave, and Sara set her elbows on the bar and regarded him.

"Thanks for not…" She didn't quite know how to express herself without sounding silly or insulting, but Grissom seemed to know what she meant; one corner of his mouth twitched up.

"If there's one thing that age has taught me, it's that ladies have little patience with men fighting over them. And rightfully so."

Sara grinned a little. "Yeah, the knights-and-tournaments thing gets kind of old after a while." She nodded her thanks to the bartender as the woman set their drinks in front of them.

Grissom picked his up and sipped thoughtfully. His expression was still slightly melancholic, and Sara touched his knee. "What's the matter?"

He shrugged a little. "I can just sympathize with him, that's all," he said softly.

Biting back her initial impulse to point out that the situations were quite different, Sara thought for a moment. In a sense, Grissom _had_ lost her three years before, and more thoroughly than her casual relationship with Delladesmonde would ever permit with the younger man. But…

She picked up her drink and gave him a puckish look. "Believe me, there's not a man on the planet who could turf you out now," she told him, keeping her tone light but meaning every word.

The slow, sweet smile she got was a wonderful reward.

**See Chapter 16**


	16. Chapter 16

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

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It took Grissom a few seconds to recognize his environment when he opened his eyes--not because it was so unfamiliar, but because he'd never seen it at quite that angle. Sara's poster of the Periodic Table was almost abstract art, viewed at a ninety-degree angle. He blinked blearily at it, registering slowly that while earlier he had been wrapped around someone delightfully soft and sweet-smelling, she was now gone.

Instead, he found, he was clutching the large pink lizard that Gracie had given Sara for her birthday. He returned its cockeyed look and set it aside, sitting up slowly.

The cottony feeling in his head was par for the course, and he let the mild dizziness pass off and reality settle in. The migraines that had come perhaps one per year had become more frequent after Sara's departure from Las Vegas, and he hadn't needed a doctor to tell him that stress was the cause; but he hadn't had a single one since moving to Virginia, until the evening before. He and Sara had been sitting together on the couch, his hand twined happily with hers, as they talked with Ed, and between one breath and the next the wavy lines that warned of pain had appeared in his vision. He'd taken his drugs, and tried to get Sara to call him a cab, but then the pain had hit, and he'd found himself bundled firmly upstairs and into her bed.

He couldn't remember much more than that, and was grateful. No, there was a blurry recollection, more sense than sight, of something warm and soft under his cheek, and the faint tickle of someone breathing into his hair.

It had been immensely comforting.

Now, though, it was Sunday morning--early, judging by the January-dawn light coming in the skylights--and there was no sign of Sara. Grissom stood, carefully, and took stock. His belt and shoes were gone, though he couldn't recall their removal, but he was still fully clothed. On reflection, he decided, he was grateful for that as well. He'd often fantasized about disrobing in front of Sara, but--_I'd prefer to be in control of the process, thank you._

Folded neatly over one of Sara's chairs, obviously meant for him, was a bath towel, a t-shirt, and what appeared to be a pair of Ed's sweatpants. Grissom gathered them up and headed down the stairs for the family bathroom on the third floor. He smelled coffee as he padded along the hallway, and was tempted to find Sara, but the alternate sweats and chills of his migraine had left him feeling sticky, so he slipped into the shower instead.

The master bedroom had its own bath, but this one was clearly the kids' province--it had a Sesame Street shower curtain, cartoon-character toothbrushes, and brightly colored bottles of kiddie shampoo and soap. Mixed in with them, rather to Grissom's relief, was Sara's more staid brands; he didn't mind smelling of her apple shampoo, given the circumstances, but he drew the line at "Screaming Blue Berry".

He was used to the Sidle place now, and when he'd finished drying off and had pulled on the borrowed clothing--and it was a good thing that Ed had sweatpants, given their difference in sizes--Grissom rummaged in the cabinet under the sink for the spare toothbrushes he knew were there, and unwrapped one for his use. There was no comb--Sara kept hers in her room--but he figured it didn't much matter at the moment. She always smiled when she saw him with rumpled hair, anyway.

The coffee scent lured him downstairs, and he heard voices murmuring in the kitchen as he approached. "Relax, Ed," Sara was saying, sounding just a trace annoyed.

The siblings looked up as Grissom came in; both of them were dressed, if as casually as Grissom himself, and both held the big mugs they favored for caffeine ingestion. Sara's face softened as she saw him, and she came over to press a brief kiss on his lips. "How're you feeling?"

Given that Ed was right there, Grissom didn't make more of the kiss. "I'm fine." He accepted a fresh mug from Ed's hands with a nod of thanks. "Am I interrupting something?"

To his astonishment, Ed blushed--something he'd never seen the scientist do. Sara snorted.

"Not really. Ed here is concerned about appearances."

That wasn't hard to figure out, even with a trace of fog still clouding his brain. Grissom added sugar to his coffee. "To wit, my spending the night in your room?"

Ed's blush deepened. "It's none of my business," he said hastily. "It's just--the kids--"

His sister sighed. "Ed, stop it. I _understand._ This is your house, it's not a problem."

Ed's palpable embarrassment was mildly funny, but Grissom kept his face straight. It was indeed Ed's house, and his children. He had the right to make such a rule.

The fact that the issue had never come up before Grissom's arrival was a small smug pleasure that Grissom kept to himself.

"Absolutely," he said sincerely, and Ed blew out a breath, and nodded gratefully.

"My main reason for putting Gil in my room anyway was so I could keep an eye on him," Sara went on. "But if you want, I can go mess up the guest room bed."

Ed rolled his eyes, his blush subsiding. "Nah, it's cool." He added more coffee to his cup.

Grissom glanced at the clock. It was only six-thirty; church was at ten-thirty, and he was hungry. "How about I go home to change clothes, and then take you all out to breakfast before church?"

Sara grinned, and slipped an arm around him. "I've got a better idea--let's run your clothes through the wash, and that way you don't have to go anywhere. It'll take about the same amount of time."

He arched a brow at Ed, who shrugged cheerful acceptance. "All right," Grissom said, pulling Sara a little closer. "That sounds fine."

He had just turned on the washing machine on the townhouse's first floor when Sara found him again, and gave him a much more private kiss. Feeling at ease, Grissom picked her up and set her on the dryer; this put her head slightly above his, but that didn't trouble him. He braced his hands on either side of her hips, and she lifted her own to run her fingers through his still-damp hair. "It really doesn't bother you?" she asked.

Grissom looked up at her, content. "Nope. If and when we do become intimate, there's plenty of privacy to be had at my place. And it does save explanations."

Sara tilted his head up gently and regarded him for a moment, then leaned down to press her mouth against the tender skin in front of his ear. "There's no 'if' about it," she murmured in a tone that put his entire body on alert.

_That's an invitation if I've ever heard one._ Grissom accepted, pulling her closer and turning his head until he could capture her lips with his. Sara made a tiny moaning sound that made his pulse speed up a fraction more, and they spent the next several minutes in delighted mutual exploration, breaking off only when the sound of Joseph's voice floated down the stairs.

Sara laughed breathlessly against Grissom's cheek. "You know, I could just get a place of my own."

_You could move in with me._ Grissom bit back the words. He had nothing to offer her in Virginia but an anonymous hotel room, and while his townhouse had plenty of room for two, it was half a country away. And it wasn't quite the right moment to suggest that they find someplace here for the two of them. _We haven't sorted things out enough._

Instead, he rubbed his cheek gently against hers, careful not to scrape her with his beard. "You'd probably be over here most of the time anyway," he pointed out.

She sighed, and straightened. "True." She looked exceptionally lovely to his eyes, despite the oversized flannel shirt and worn leggings she wore; her hair was enticingly tousled, her eyes were bright, and her lips were reddened from his attentions. "Well, it's a problem for later." She shoved lightly at his shoulders, and when he straightened, twisted gracefully past him to jump down on the floor, faster than he could grab her to lift her down. "Right now, I'm going to go take a shower and braid Kimmy's hair." She reached up to tap him playfully on the nose. "See you in a few."

Grissom watched her run upstairs, and listened as an abrupt squeal from Joseph hinted at a surprise tickle attack from his aunt, and deliberately set aside the problem of housing and the two of them. As Sara said, it was a problem for another day.

And in the meantime, he wanted more coffee. He headed for the stairs.

**x**

_I should have realized. Dumb, dumb, dumb._ Sara kept her frown internal as she slid into the pew next to her family. _But the question never really came up._

Grissom didn't usually accompany the Sidles to church, and he certainly hadn't since the New Year; but after breakfast he had come along without any discussion. And Sara had somehow forgotten his little male display with Frank Delladesmonde.

_And just my luck, Frank and Petra are here today._ She could see them on the other side of the sanctuary, further forward and already seated. If Grissom had spotted his would-be rival, there was no hint of it on the side of his face that she could see, and there was no new tension in the arm he had placed along the back of the pew behind her shoulders as they waited for the processional to begin.

_Oh well._ Sara lifted her chin. _Frank will just have to get used to the idea. No time like the present._

For some reason, she remembered Greg just then, his grinning face still inhabiting the lab that was no longer his domain. He'd called just the week before, and they'd had a good gossip, talking around the subject of Grissom.

_He's going to be kind of pissed when he finds out we're together,_ Sara thought as the organ started and she paged forward to the correct hymn. _But…I think he'll be pleased, when he gets over it._

When the service was over, and the congregation moving slowly towards the exits, Sara saw Petra start in her direction. But Delladesmonde touched his daughter's shoulder and said something, and the two of them slipped out and away. He had very carefully not looked in Sara's direction, and she bit her lip.

"You didn't encourage him," Ed said in her ear, startling her a little. "It's not your fault."

She blew out a breath. "I know," she muttered.

On her other side, her fingers were enveloped in Grissom's warm grip. When she glanced over, she saw only sympathy in his eyes--both for her, and for Delladesmonde.

_This is why I love this man. _She squeezed his hand, and smiled.

**xxxx**

Grissom lifted his kit out of the back of his car and headed for the warehouse, enjoying the fragile warmth. It was nowhere near spring yet, but temperatures had climbed above freezing for a couple of days. He was looking forward to the challenge of the two corpses waiting for him on the warehouse's main floor; he was getting more expert with Eastern seaboard insects now, after years of studying Midwest varieties. _Challenge keeps the mind supple._

He showed his ID to the agent at the perimeter--this crime scene was federal, rather than local--and headed for the building, which was just one of a row of identical barnlike structures, looking rather grim and forlorn without their expected weekday bustle. As he had the one time previously he was hired to work on a Bureau case, Grissom wondered idly whether Sara would be at the crime scene.

Rather to his surprise, though, this time she was. As he entered the building and took off his sunglasses, he heard her distinctive cadence off to his left, and was able to spot her slim height talking to an even taller, thinner man.

The temptation to walk in her direction was nearly irresistible, but Grissom made for the corpses instead, noting as he neared them that they were laid out as though they had been executed. There were plenty of insects, and he ignored the stench as he pulled on gloves and flipped open his kit.

He soon became absorbed in the harvesting, but not so much that he wasn't aware of the sharp click of heels moving towards him. As they halted nearby, he smiled at the fine specimen wiggling in the grip of his forceps. "Special Agent Sidle."

"Doctor Grissom," Sara returned, her voice rich with amusement. "Nice to see you again."

Grissom dropped the bug in a jar and screwed the lid on. "The pleasure is all mine." He glanced up at her, gaze traveling along her long legs to the hem of her jacket and the bulge of her holster, all the way to her smiling face. "What's the story?"

Sara shrugged, tossing her hair out of her face and crouching smoothly beside him. "The locals did a routine investigation when someone reported the smell, and one bright cop realized that the warehouse belonged to someone on our Most Wanted list. So we got pulled in to an almost untouched crime scene." She jerked a thumb at the tall man. "Toby says he's going to make sure the kid gets a gold star for it."

"That's your boss?" Grissom looked again at the man, reassessing.

"Yup." Sara smirked a little. "Not the most brilliant boss I've ever had, but a pretty cool guy."

Grissom shot her a dry look, and her smile widened; pretending reluctance, he smiled back, and returned to his work. "What am I doing here, anyway?" he asked. "You said you had an entomologist on staff."

"Maternity leave," Sara said. "She's due in about three weeks, and as she says, there's no way she's going to bend over at this point."

Grissom chuckled. "I can see how that might be a problem." He sealed another specimen away.

Sara nodded. "I'll see you later." She straightened and walked briskly away, giving no hint of anything other than a professional demeanor.

Grissom approved. Their relationship had no bearing on the case before them, but it also had no place there. As he went on gathering insects, a small voice in the back of his head asked him why the hell he'd worried about Sara's behavior in the workplace back in Vegas.

He squashed it.

The work absorbed him. When he had collected sufficient specimens, Grissom rose, his knees protesting slightly, and stripped off his gloves. Sara wasn't in sight at the moment, but Toby Washington was talking on a cellphone not too far away. Grissom packed up his kit and walked over to Sara's boss.

Washington shut off his phone as Grissom approached. "Doctor Grissom, thanks for coming to our aid at the last minute." He held out a hand.

Grissom shook it briefly. "Glad to be of service. I take it you want me to do the timeline in your lab?"

"Absolutely." Washington gave him an affable smile. "We prefer to retain control of the evidence when we can. In fact, I'm going to send an agent back with you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." It made sense that the Bureau would want to monitor the chain of evidence.

Washington cocked his head, eyes sharpening. "So you're Sidle's S.O."

Grissom blinked, both at the acronym and the personal comment. "Yes."

Washington regarded him for a few seconds longer, and then grinned widely as Grissom said nothing more. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up," he said _sotto voce._ "You're the first person to get her to take a real vacation."

He gave a casual salute and strode off, leaving Grissom mildly baffled in his wake.

The lab the Bureau lent him was in Sara's building, and was shabbier than he was used to in Vegas, but the latter didn't surprise Grissom. A mid-level federal department probably got a lot less funding, proportionally, than his own record-breaking county lab. High solve rates and new techniques brought in grants and new equipment, while the overworked Bureau staff probably didn't have time to try any innovations or fill out paperwork for extra funding. But all the supplies he needed were in place, and that was what mattered.

The work went smoothly. Grissom double-checked details and measured larvae happily, finally awarding himself a break for the restroom and a possible cup of coffee. He found both, and in addition found Sara in his lab when he returned to it.

"Hey," she said, straightening from her examination of his work.

"Checking up on me?" Grissom teased, and then grimaced as he took his first sip of coffee.

"That stuff's worse than the Vegas lab's ever was," Sara commented wryly, leaning against the table. "I think they mix in the ashes from incinerated evidence. I was just wondering if the guest scientist will have time for dinner later."

"I think so," he said, after a judicious second sip made him wonder if she wasn't joking about the ashes. "This really _is_ awful."

"Told ya." Sara pushed away from the table and walked past him to the door, close enough that he could catch the scent of her hair. "Call me when you're ready."

**x**

She took him to a tiny Italian restaurant only a short subway ride away from her building, and enjoyed something fabulous with eggplant while Grissom ate lasagna and looked blissful. To Sara, it felt weirdly right; as though this spending time together, working or at leisure, was the way things were supposed to be, and they'd finally gotten it right. The man across from her had ruffled hair and a small smear of sauce at the corner of his mouth, and she couldn't think of anything that would make the moment more perfect.

Amused, she took her napkin and leaned across the table to wipe the sauce away, and Grissom gave her a slightly sheepish smile and signed "Thank you," which always reminded her of a blown kiss.

Later, in the parking garage, they stood by her car for a little while and kissed for real. They were almost the same height, which was handy for kissing, but her legs were longer; and that meant that it was natural for Grissom's hands to rest at her waist, cupping over her hips in warm familiarity.

His lips were on the corner of her mouth, velvet soft, teasing her just there. A gentle suction, a tiny nibble, the slightest touch of his tongue, and it drove her absolutely nuts--not just the anticipation, but the way he could focus his entire attention on so small a spot, and make it seem like the most sensitive and important thing in her world. Sara finally sighed in delighted exasperation and caught his mouth with hers, claiming the full kiss she wanted.

He felt so good. Some part of her had always known, she thought vaguely. This was her match. And when they parted, a little breathless, and laid last farewell kisses on each other's skin, she went home happy.

It was an odd feeling, but very welcome.

**xxxx**

Two weeks later Groundhog Day was just past when Sara's cellphone rang as she perused a casefile. She reached for the device without looking, eyes still fixed on the evidence inventory before her, and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Sara."

The voice made her blink, and smile, and she put down the papers and leaned back in her chair, careful not to hit her cubicle wall. "Hey, Gil, what's up?"

"I can't meet you for lunch today," he said flatly.

The lack of emotion took her aback. "Okay," she answered, a bit uncertain. "You got called in to consult on a case?"

"No." His tone did not invite questions, but that only put her on the alert, and she sat up.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Sara," he said sharply, and she frowned.

"Bullshit." It was an effort to keep her voice quiet. An intern stuck his head into her cubicle and handed her a folder, distracting her from framing her next sentence as she nodded him on his way.

"It's not your problem." Grissom huffed a breath. "I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn't be able to make it."

"Gil--"

A curt "Goodbye" cut across her words, and then he hung up.

Stunned, Sara closed her phone slowly, struggling to understand what had just happened. _What the hell was that? _

Worry was foremost in her mind--clearly something had happened that had upset him--but anger was a very close second. _How can he just--dump me, without an explanation? _She was suddenly tempted to pitch the phone into the next cubicle. _Where does he get off acting like that?_

Instead, she punched the speed dial for his cellphone.

It went directly to voice mail, and she knew he was avoiding her, which only made her angrier.

But behind the anger came a slow swell of miserable disappointment. _I really thought he'd changed. I thought he'd finally pulled his head out of his ass. _

_I guess I was wrong. _

Her hands were shaking. Sara clenched them into fists, then stood up. Schooling her expression into blankness, she headed for the nearest stairwell, taking the three flights up to the roof at a jog. The door to the roof itself was locked, but no one but Maintenance ever came up that far, and the last half-flight was a good place to be private.

She sat down on one stair, heedless of the dust, and wrapped her arms around herself. It came to her that she hadn't really _thought_ about what it would be like if Grissom decided to give up on their experiment; she'd dreaded it, but she hadn't imagined it with any clarity.

Well, here it was, and she was unprepared. Feeling vaguely sick, Sara blinked back tears. _I can cope with this. I coped before. _

But she'd never had so much to lose, before.

It was almost twenty minutes before she felt composed enough to return to her desk. Cold, she fished her jacket from the back of her chair and threw it over her shoulders before sitting down and going grimly back to her casefile. What she really wanted to do was go scream at him, or go home and hide, but work was an acceptable escape. She could bury herself in facts and evidence until her heart stopped aching so hard.

_I'll be here all night, probably, but who cares. _

_Dammit, Gil. _

**See Chapter 17**


	17. Chapter 17

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**This chapter is for Jpsets, who made me rethink it; the result is, I believe, a much better story. Thank you!  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_I don't want to go home._ Sara glared sourly at her computer as it shut down for the night, resenting the fact that her body needed food and sleep. She wanted to work straight through, to keep working, to somehow magically forget the fact that Grissom had blown her off.

But there was no forgetting the lump of ice in her middle, the ache of betrayal. _At least Ed'll be asleep by the time I get home._ She'd called him to say she'd be working late, and she didn't want to face him, didn't want to have to explain. Her desire to hide was still strong, but work had become her refuge.

She shrugged into her jacket, picked up her briefcase, and made her way out to the hallway, pacing past cubicles now dark and empty. There were times when she liked the hum of activity around her, and times when she preferred the silence, but right now she just didn't care.

The elevator dropped her swiftly to the garage level, and Sara made sure her gun was easily reached. The parking garage was relatively well-lit, but she had no desire to end up like Pamela Adler, no matter how depressed she felt.

As she walked down the aisles of parking spaces, mostly empty now, she saw what she wasn't expecting--another human being. Grissom was leaning against her car, a little slumped, a lonely figure in his coat and gloves. She wasn't quite surprised to see him there; instead she felt a painful hope that she immediately squashed, and a surging fury that had been bubbling all day. Without hesitating, she strode up to the car.

Grissom straightened as she approached, but she didn't look at him, instead pressing her key remote to unlock the doors. "You're a little late for lunch," she said coldly.

He unfolded his arms. "I know," he said. "Sara, I--"

"I don't want to hear it." She opened the passenger door and tossed in her briefcase, but when she came around to the other side of the vehicle, Grissom didn't budge--and he was leaning against the driver's door. "Move."

"Not until you let me say what I came to say." His voice was calm, but when Sara finally brought herself to look at his face, her stomach twisted sharply. She hadn't seen that expression on his face since last August, when she'd cornered him in a Pennsylvania parking lot. He was in pain--and more than that, he was despairing.

_So what. He can rot for all I care--_

She considered her options. She could move him, if she really tried, but not without hurting him. She could go in through the passenger door, but her pride rebelled at trying to crawl over the gearshift in a skirt. She could walk away, and hope he didn't chase her.

Or she could listen to him, get it over with, and get her car back.

Sara folded her arms. "All right. Make it quick."

Grissom let out a breath. "First of all, I want to apologize. I was wrong to treat you like that, and to hang up on you, and I'm very sorry."

She bared her teeth. "'Sorry' doesn't cut it, Grissom." He winced. "Do you really think you can treat me like that and then just expect me to let it go?"

"No," he replied heavily. "But I have to start somewhere, and an apology seemed the only right choice."

"All right, you've apologized. Fine. Now get out of my way."

He didn't budge. "I'm not done."

Sara clenched her jaw, wondering if it was worth it to try to body-check him off the car. It wasn't, she decided after a moment; he massed a good deal more than she did, and backing up to get a run at him would just give him time to brace.

Apparently taking her silence for consent, Grissom shifted a little and continued. "Second, I came to my senses about ninety minutes after my call, but you didn't answer your cellphone and the switchboard wouldn't put me through to your work phone."

She _had _been screening her calls, not wanting to lose her precarious temper with some innocent. Sara blinked as a thought occurred to her. "How long have you been down here?"

Grissom glanced at his watch, looking a little sheepish. "I got here at three-twenty, but it took me almost half an hour to talk the guards into letting me in to wait for you. They insisted on calling Las Vegas to confirm my credentials."

She stared at him. "You've been waiting for me for _nine hours?_"

He shrugged. "I did have to take a couple of restroom breaks."

Sara was still furious, but mixed with her anger was both confusion and a sneaking sense of being flattered. This wasn't what she expected at all; she'd thought that he would retreat permanently, or try to ignore what had happened, not plant himself by her car and wait.

His gloved hands flexed nervously. "Sara, I was an idiot. I know that. You have every right to shut me out, to refuse to see me again. But I…please don't." He swallowed. "Please."

Something in her tore then, a bright sharp pain, because of all the things she'd imagined over the years, she'd never imagined this one: the man she'd respected and despised, loved and hated and given up on twice, _begging._ Letting go his pride and pleading with her.

And at the same time, a cool little thought surfaced in the back of her mind. _Nobody's perfect._

_Maybe next time it'll be you._

If she let there be a next time. If she--

Sara squeezed her eyes shut to try to stem the tears. "You--I can't deal with this, Griss. You can't shut me out like this."

"I know," he said, and his voice was thick with regret. "It's a lifetime of habit, but I swear to you I'm trying to change it."

She bit the inside of her cheek, and opened her eyes. "What the hell happened, anyway?"

Grissom's mouth tightened, and he looked away, taking a deep breath and then letting it out again. "I...I got a phone call from Susan about twenty minutes before I called you. My mother got lost during her walk last night. They found her quickly, but…" He had to swallow again. "She's been taking that same route for five years. She's…getting worse."

It was Sara's turn to wince. It was all too easy to imagine Rosalie bewildered on some side street, her elegant control fading as she struggled to remember the way home in a world gone suddenly alien. "Gil…I'm sorry."

He bowed his head. "Look, I know I screwed up. If you need time to decide, I'll..."

He lifted one hand in a feeble gesture, then pushed off the car and stood uncertainly. When Sara said nothing, he offered a defeated nod, and began trudging away.

The rip went clear through her. Sara didn't know if it was anger or anguish that propelled her after him, but she had his arm in a tight grip within five strides. "No! You do _not_ get to walk away from me _again_."

He swung around, and with a shock Sara saw tears standing in his eyes. In the next instant they were wrapped so tightly around each other that she could feel the buttons of her coat pressing into her flesh. Grissom was shuddering, mumbling smeared apologies into her hair, and Sara felt her anger turn to sadness, an unfamiliar grief that ebbed slowly in the comfort of his embrace. She found herself crying, the accumulated tension spilling over, and Grissom kissed the tears away one by one, still murmuring "I'm sorry".

"You can't do this, Gil," she whispered at last, as they rocked together. "I can't trust you if you do this."

"I know," he said again, one hand cupping the back of her head, his lips against her cheekbone. "I won't. I promise."

Doubt bit at her, but Sara held him tighter. _I guess we have to start somewhere._

**xxxx**

_I can't believe how stupid that was._ Grissom was slumped against the headboard of his bed, the golden light of the bedside lamp giving the room soft edges. Sara was asleep in his arms, head on his chest, but Grissom couldn't calm his mind enough to sleep. _And what about Mom? She has to move **now**-- _

He glanced down at Sara. Her face was turned away from his, and her hair was mussed; he reflected that she couldn't be terribly comfortable sleeping in her blouse and skirt, but he was reluctant to wake her.

_She actually forgave me. Far more than I deserve._ With the lightest of touches, he straightened a wrinkle in her blouse. It had been almost nauseating, the realization of what he'd done by hanging up on Sara. He'd worked so hard to build back trust that he'd spent years eroding, and with one blow he'd shattered it again.

The only comfort he had was that she _had _forgiven him, at least enough to not leave him. Grissom was painfully aware that he would have a lot to do to make it up to her.

_My redeeming grace._

She'd looked so shattered, and he'd been so tired, that when he'd led her out of the garage to his car, she hadn't said a word in protest. In a sort of daze, they'd gone to his apartment, and he'd made them tea with the vague knowledge that they really needed to consume _something._ And without discussing it, they'd simply held each other for a long, long time. Since the apartment lacked a couch, the bed was the only place to do it.

Eventually, Sara had fallen asleep, leaving Grissom's thoughts to circle endlessly around what he'd done to her, and what to do about his mother.

It was awful, feeling so helpless. For one thing, he was so far away from Rosalie; but Grissom had to admit that being closer wouldn't do much. _And Susan and Jack are there._

But there was little they could do, either. Rosalie was condemned to a slow deterioration of memory and ability, and while she was already on medication that might delay the process somewhat, the conclusion was inevitable. He was going to have to watch his mother lose her grip on life, and dread the day when she didn't recognize him, or anyone else.

That, too, made him feel sick.

Sara sighed in his arms, and then stirred, reflexively snuggling a little closer as she woke. When she lifted her head, her face was still tired, but the strain of earlier was nearly gone. "Are you cold?" Grissom asked quietly.

"Nah." She frowned a little, and extracted herself from his grip, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Have you slept at all?"

Grissom glanced away. "I can't."

Her touch on his face almost startled him, but obediently he turned his gaze back. There was no anger in Sara's expression, only sympathy. "C'mere," she said.

And he found himself drawn down into her embrace, held the way no one had held him in decades, as though he were small again and in need of comfort. It had been a very long time since he'd allowed anyone to offer him comfort.

When Sara started running her fingers through his hair, Grissom let out a long, long breath, and focused on her heartbeat under his ear. And listening to that, strong and slow, he fell asleep.

**xxxx**

Grissom woke alone for the second time, but almost immediately he heard movement, the faint clink of china and the hiss of water in the kitchen sink. Rolling over, he winced at stiff muscles, still feeling tired, and slightly grubby from sleeping in his clothes.

Standing up, he stretched and headed for the small bathroom to use the facilities and brush his teeth. As he came out again, he noticed the time with surprise. It was past eight o'clock--not a problem for him, but...

Sara looked out through the kitchenette window as he came into the main room, and smiled--not her full brilliant smile, but a genuine one. "Good morning." Her hair was tangled, and her skirt and blouse were hopelessly crumpled, but she still took his breath away.

"You look beautiful," Grissom said, coming around to stand in the kitchen doorway, and held up a hand when she opened her mouth with a doubtful look. "It's just an observation."

Sara snorted gently. "I started some coffee. And I took a personal day at work. I think we need to talk."

Some part of him quailed at that thought, but Grissom focused on the positive. _She's still here._ "You're right." He scrubbed his hands over his face, and lowered them to give her an appealing look. "But can we eat first?"

She laughed, and Grissom wanted very much to kiss her, but he wasn't sure he was allowed to any longer. "Definitely. I think my blood sugar's in my socks." She opened the refrigerator. "Please tell me you have something more than bacon in here."

"Uh, nope." Grissom shrugged as Sara closed the door again. "I was planning on running to the store yesterday, but..."

"Yeah." Her expression was thoughtful.

Grissom thought fast. "Tell you what--let me take a quick shower, and then I'll run out and get something while you have one. I'm pretty sure I've got something you can wear."

She smiled again, looking a little speculative. "Sounds like a plan."

The coffee machine finished its cycle, and without asking Sara poured two mugs, handing him one before doctoring her own. "You don't have anything scheduled today, do you?"

Grissom sipped, and shook his head. "No."

Sara tasted her own coffee, then slid past him, leaning over to kiss his cheek briefly. The warm touch of her lips was a small relief. "Get me a toothbrush too while you're out?"

"There's a couple of extras in the medicine cabinet," Grissom answered, turning to watch as she walked over to sit in one of the armchairs. "There are clean towels, too."

He took his coffee back to the bedroom and rummaged a little, finding a clean dress shirt and puzzling over what to offer her as a replacement for her skirt. He finally settled on a pair of pajama pants, which he didn't usually wear unless he was feeling unwell; they had a drawstring waist and might work.

A short shower later, Grissom felt much refreshed, though still apprehensive. _What if she wants to tell me she's fed up? Wants to quit and leave me? _

He swallowed hard as he ran a comb through his hair. _It would be nothing more than I deserve. But--_

As he got dressed, Grissom kept thinking of things Sara might want to use, and eventually he made the bed and spread them out on the quilt--clothes, towels, brush and comb, toothbrush, the lotion he used on his hands when they grew chapped from repeated washing. Reining in his nervousness, he grabbed his wallet and keys and went back out. "What would you like for breakfast?"

Sara looked up from the journal she'd found. "A bagel's fine. Or whatever."

"All right. Um, I put some stuff out for you. Take your time."

She nodded, smiling faintly, and Grissom let himself out.

He didn't want to settle for just bagels. Grissom drove to one of the big local grocery stores, which boasted a sort of lunch counter that also served breakfast. There were many choices, some of them vegetarian, and Grissom knew the food to be good; he had fallen into the habit of eating there on mornings when he had a consulting job.

So he came back with fruit salad and breakfast quiche and a couple of danishes, and the requested bagels. When he opened the door, he found Sara dressed in his offerings, and using the apartment's ironing board and iron to press her skirt. She looked up a little guiltily. "I hope you don't mind, I kind of went ahead and--"

"Of course not," Grissom interrupted, coming forward to put the bag on the table and shuck his jacket. He couldn't help staring a little; Sara's hair, still slightly damp, was curling freely, and the too-big shirt with the sleeves rolled up made her look younger. The pants were a fraction too short, and her bare feet were long and elegant and vulnerable.

"I'm almost done anyway." Sara finished running the iron over the skirt and shook it out, draping it carefully over the back of a chair before putting away the equipment. Grissom set out the food and poured more coffee.

They sat down on either side of the small table, and Sara raised her brows at the choices. "This looks really great, Gil." She reached for the fruit salad.

Grissom served himself some of the food, but he found that it stuck in his throat. He pushed it around on his plate, and watched Sara eat, noting with a sort of pained pleasure as color came back to her cheeks. But halfway through her bagel, Sara fixed him with a mild glare. "Why aren't you eating? You haven't eaten since yesterday morning, remember?"

Grissom reached across the table and took her hand, the one not holding the bagel. "Sara, I--I have to... Are you going to call it quits?"

She blinked, and looked down at their hands before turning hers over so their palms met. "I thought about it," she said frankly, and Grissom clenched his teeth against the cold roil in his gut. "But then I remembered how long I've waited for this, and how much I've wanted it, and--if I were going to leave you, Gil, I would have done it last night."

He let out a long, long breath, feeling all the muscles along his spine relax in a dizzy rush of relief, and lifted her hand to press it to his mouth for a second. "Thank you."

Sara flushed a little, her eyes going shy. "It's not just that. I...I was thinking." She gave an abashed shrug. "Gil, I practically gave up on us on the spot, without even trying. That's not a good way to handle things."

Grissom cocked his head. "Sara, you can't blame yourself--I was the one at fault."

She shook her head and pulled her hand away. "You weren't the only one. For one thing, I should have tried to figure out what was the matter, instead of just getting mad. For another, why the hell should I expect you to be perfect?"

He blinked, taken aback, and she went on. "You've been...amazing...these past couple of months. I mean, _really_ amazing." Sara offered him a weak smile. "But geez, you're human. You're going to mess up sometimes." She sighed. "So'm I."

Grissom opened his mouth to deny it, but she lifted her chin. "You know I will sometime. Maybe not the same way, but sooner or later I'm going to do something that will hurt you. And how can I expect you to forgive me if I can't forgive you?"

Words tumbled over each other in Grissom's mind, denials, promises, reassurances, but he couldn't seem to bring any of them out. Instead, he gathered up both her hands this time, and kissed the palms, and felt her cup his face as though it were the most precious thing she'd ever touched.

And that was enough.

**x**

"What are you going to do?" she asked him later, as he drove her back to her office to pick up her car.

He frowned. "I'm not sure. My leave of absence is up in a couple of weeks, but I'm going to need a week to move Mom, and Susan says that there's at least a month's waiting list to get into the better facilities." Grissom saw Sara's eyes widen a little in disbelief, and shrugged. "She's not _physically_ incapacitated, so she's relatively low priority."

Her low sound of disgust echoed his own feelings. "What a crock."

Grissom grimaced in agreement. "Unfortunately, that's what we have to work with."

They were silent for a little space as Grissom navigated past a fender-bender and the police car that accompanied it, but Sara's hand rested for a moment on his leg, a warm gesture of support.

"I'm thinking of extending my leave for two more months," Grissom said at last. "That would give me time to get her settled…and give us a little more as well."

He glanced over in time to see her slow nod. "Do you think the lab will give it to you?"

"If the director wants me to come back, it will," he replied, feeling confident on that if nothing else. "And if not…I have other options."

It was true. Grissom had planned to return, yes, but he was prepared to give up his old life for Sara; and Rosalie's deterioration was a new factor to be considered. The work-intense life of a lab-affiliated CSI didn't leave a lot of room for last-minute trips to another state.

"We'll make it work," Sara said firmly, and he took heart from that.

**xxxx**

Sara climbed the stairs to the townhouse's main floor, slowing as weariness caught up with her. Between working late and emotional exhaustion, she felt worn out. But it was early afternoon, and the house was blissfully silent with the kids at school and Ed at work. The only indication that anyone had even noticed her absence was the note waiting for her on the small table where she and Ed usually kept their keys. "CALL ME", it said in bold letters.

Pursing her lips on the smile, Sara kicked off her shoes and dug her cellphone from the pocket of her coat before hanging the latter up. Within two rings, she had Ed's voice in her ear. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Sara sat down on the couch, rolling up the sleeve of Grissom's shirt where it had come loose. "We, um, worked things out."

"Okay." Some of the tension in Ed's voice relaxed. "Are you going to tell me about it?"

"Hell no." She loved her brother dearly, but some things were private. In fact, all she'd told him the night before was that she was out with Grissom, but he'd known something was up.

He snickered. "Fair enough. Sure you don't want me to give him the Spanish influenza?"

"Back off with the microbes," she ordered with a smirk. "It's fine."

"Really?"

Sara thought a moment. "Yeah."

"Okay then. Go sleep or whatever."

"See you tonight." Sara closed the phone and sat back, idly considering a nap right where she was. _But it's Tuesday, and Gracie'll be by in a little while. And I don't feel like explaining why I'm wearing Gil's shirt. _

Sighing, she pushed herself upright, and collected her shoes and bag before heading upstairs. Her room was a bit of a mess, but it was familiar, and hers; feeling unusually vulnerable, Sara locked her door, something she didn't often do. _But I don't want to be disturbed right now, no matter who comes by. _

The bed did look good. Sara dumped the clothes from last night into the hamper and peeled off the skirt she'd resumed before leaving Grissom's apartment. But as she reached for the buttons of the shirt, she hesitated.

There was nothing special about Grissom's dress shirt...except...

_It smells like him._ Faintly, a ghost of scent under the smell of cotton and hint of detergent. She held the collar to her nose and pulled air in through the fabric, tasting it in the back of her throat. A jumble of images filled her head, from Grissom's slump-shouldered giving up to his head resting on her chest to the deeply reverent expression she'd held between her hands only an hour or so before.

_What a night. _Sara pulled back the quilt on her bed and climbed in, yanking the cover over herself and burrowing down into the warmth as though for protection. She wrapped her arms around her torso, feeling absurdly lonely, and for a moment pretended it was Grissom's hug.

_He's it. He's always been it. _No matter how wrongheaded he could get, Gil Grissom was the one her heart wanted, never mind what her head might have to say about it.

Feeling suddenly mischievous, Sara propped herself up on one elbow and reached for the phone on her bedside table. She didn't use it much, preferring her cellphone, but she'd programmed a few numbers into the handset. She punched in one combination and lay back down, smirking at the ceiling.

Grissom answered within two rings, sounding a little surprised. "Sara?"

"You're mine," she told him, and pressed the disconnect button. Satisfied, she replaced the handset and rolled over to sleep, still smirking.

On the other end, Grissom stared at the phone in his hand, a grin he knew to be foolish spreading over his face.

_She's right. _

**See Chapter 18**


	18. Chapter 18

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**  
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**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara sighed, and regarded the sheaf of papers on her bedroom desk without favor. Evidence files, she didn't mind at all; supervisor reviews were _boring._ Not that she wasn't going to give Toby Washington the highest of marks; but actually doing so was dull, and she really didn't feel like doing it.

_Oh, face it. You miss Gil._

She sighed again, and pushed away from the desk, looking around her room restlessly. He'd only been gone two days, and in fact she expected him back sometime that evening, but it had been hard to let him go after their near-disaster. Her only comfort had been the almost frantic kiss he'd laid on her mouth when she'd dropped him off at the airport; evidence as clear as the pain in his eyes that he didn't want to leave her.

_But he had to see Rosalie, and Susan. Family comes first. _She understood that, and she didn't resent it.

She just missed him.

_A lightning visit,_ he'd said; flying out on Wednesday and back on Friday, spending scarcely twenty-four hours in California. Seeing that his mother was all right with his own eyes, and handling more paperwork to try to get her into better care more quickly. Rosalie's getting lost had one blessing hidden in it, at least; Grissom could now demonstrate that she was in danger where she was, since her facility wasn't set up to handle wandering residents.

_Cold comfort._

Sara rubbed her eyes, wishing she could have gone with him to offer support, if nothing else; and, selfishly, to be _with_ him. But it wasn't practical, especially for such a short trip and at such short notice. She was only working from home today because her case had wrapped up that morning, and Washington had chased her out, telling her to get an early start on her weekend.

She leaned over to pick up the small framed photo that sat on her bedside table next to the phone. It was something she'd had in storage since long before she'd left Vegas; she'd dug it out when she'd gotten back from California. It was the same one that Rosalie had in her album, the group shot of the nightshift team.

_Funny how things change. _Sara's gaze lingered on Grissom's face, which was beardless, and remembered waking up with beard burn in California. His ears had flushed when he'd seen her reddened skin, and he'd asked her if she would prefer he shave it.

"Hell no," she murmured, repeating her answer. Grissom beardless was undeniably cute; Grissom _with_ a beard was near-irresistible.

Besides, she liked the way it tickled.

Sara put the photo back on the table, then leaned back until the chair was in danger of falling over backwards. _This is weird. We almost gave up on each other this week. I should be feeling a lot more doubtful about this whole thing. _Instead, some part of her had _relaxed_, as though Grissom's mistake and apology had proven something.

_Maybe it did._ She stared out a skylight, seeing only gray clouds. _It sure proved he was serious. Nine hours, geez! _

The memory of his curt phone call still made her feel a little sick, but the remedy was remembering his tight clutch, his repeated apologies, the fear and then the relief in his eyes. _Maybe that's it. Maybe we've proved that we can go to the edge and still survive. _

Sara considered the idea for a while, then tucked it away for later. Stretching, she unfolded herself from the chair and decided to go downstairs. _Hot cocoa. Then I'll deal with this thing. _

She threw the evaluation form an unfriendly glance and left the room.

**xxxx**

_I'm glad to be back._

It was a bittersweet realization. Grissom parked in front of the Sidles' townhouse and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He was tired, but not overly so; being able to afford a first-class ticket meant that one got a truly comfortable airline seat, and he'd slept a solid four hours on the way back to the East Coast.

The past couple of days had been peculiar--arguing with facility administrators and Rosalie's health insurance, struggling to explain to his mother what was going to happen and why, and praying that she wouldn't dig her heels in. Fortunately, she hadn't refused...yet.

But all the while, he had been conscious of the feeling that even his mother wasn't "home" to him any longer. His thoughts were constantly drawn back to Sara. It seemed as though giving in to his need for her had rearranged everything in his life, making work a distant third instead of the center of it all.

_But that was the point, wasn't it? _

Grissom climbed out of his car and drew his collar up a bit against the freezing wind that gusted unevenly past. He was still getting used to the uncertain weather of the Eastern seaboard; it was perfectly capable of being mild and sunny one day, and the next throwing in an icy wet cold that outstripped Nevada's dry chill. The sky was now heavy with clouds in the late afternoon, but nothing was falling at the moment.

As he crossed the Sidles' small front lawn, another car pulled up behind his--Gracie's battered Volkswagen--and the housekeeper climbed out. Grissom paused to wait for her, but as she rounded the vehicle and came closer, he realized that she was in distress. In fact, she was crying.

The usual feeling of helplessness came over him. He never knew what to do when a woman cried; his instinct was to offer comfort, but he always feared to offend, and that dread tended to paralyze him. But as Gracie reached him, he mustered his courage and put a hand on her shoulder. "Grace, what's the matter?"

Gracie gave a choked sob and all but fell against him. Very startled, Grissom automatically wrapped his arms around her to support her, feeling her gloved hands curl into the leather of his jacket and clutch tightly. She began weeping in earnest.

Grissom widened his stance a little to brace her weight, and patted her back awkwardly, feeling immensely flustered. "Grace, are you okay?" _She doesn't seem to be physically hurt, at least._

He heard her say something, but between her sobs and the fact that her face was buried in his chest, he couldn't make out the words. _Whatever it is, it must be pretty drastic. Gracie's usually so serene-- _

Before Grissom could figure out quite what to do next, the Sidles' door opened, and he looked up to see Sara in the frame it made. It suddenly occurred to him that he made an interesting picture, standing on his beloved's lawn holding another woman in his arms, but in the next instant he discarded the thought. He didn't doubt that Sara could be jealous, but she was neither stupid nor unobservant.

Sure enough, she came down the front steps with one bound, hurrying over to them without stopping for a coat, and her gaze was all for Gracie. "What happened?" she asked, sounding worried.

Grissom let out a breath, part frustration, part apprehension. "I don't know."

Sara put gentle hands on Gracie's heaving shoulders. "Grace…Grace, come inside. C'mon."

She managed to coax Gracie into letting Grissom's jacket go, and the two of them supported her inside, as she was half-blinded from tears. Her sobs slacked off somewhat as they got her into the house, but then Ed appeared at the top of the stairs, starting down them with his face creased in alarm. _"Gracie--"_

The housekeeper started weeping in earnest again, and bolted up the stairs into his arms. Ed wrapped her protectively in his hug and cradled her close, murmuring reassurances into her hair. After a couple of minutes he helped her up the rest of the stairs, guiding her out of Grissom's sight.

Sara whistled softly, her face sober as she looked after them. "Something pretty bad must have happened," she said in a low voice.

Grissom shook his head, and peeled off his gloves to stick them in his jacket pockets. "I assume so, but I couldn't understand anything she said."

Sara turned to him and unzipped his jacket absently. "Well, I'm sure Ed'll find out when he gets her calmed down a little." She rested her hands on his waist and tilted her head to kiss him soundly, and Grissom leaned into the kiss. "I'm glad you're back."

Grissom slipped his arms around her and gave her a second kiss, longer and warmer still. "So am I. I missed you, Sara."

She sighed happily and hugged him for a moment before pulling back. "You did good just now," she added, regarding him thoughtfully.

Grissom snorted quietly. "The panic was that obvious?"

Sara pursed her lips, trying unsuccessfully to smother a smile. "You did look a little…stressed out," she admitted. "But the Gil I knew three years ago wouldn't have been able to deal with someone he barely knew bawling on his shoulder. You would have detached her gently and passed her off to someone else."

The thought was not entirely comfortable, but Grissom realized that it was true. It was odd; he'd been trying to change, trying to become a man whom Sara could trust, but he hadn't considered that he might be changing in relation to other people as well. "Mmm."

He shrugged out of his jacket and followed Sara up the stairs, both of them treading lightly. Ed and Gracie were huddled together on the couch, and Grissom could still hear her sobbing, though it was a quieter sound now. Ed's eyes met Sara's over Gracie's curls, and some silent communication passed between the siblings. Sara caught Grissom's gaze and tilted her head towards the kitchen, and signed "Tea?"

Grissom nodded, grateful to have something to do, and went to fill the kettle.

It didn't take long to boil. He made the tea strong and added a generous amount of sugar before taking the heavy mug out to the living room. Gracie was no longer weeping, though her eyes were swollen and her face blotched; she sat in the circle of Ed's arm as though seeking protection. Sara sat on the low coffee table, holding a box of tissues.

Grissom held out the mug to Gracie, and she sat up a little and took it with an effort at a smile. "Thanks," she whispered.

Sara and Ed exchanged looks again, and then Sara set down the box and patted Gracie's knee. "We'll be upstairs if you need us," she said, and rose.

They made their way up to her room, and Sara sighed as she closed her door behind them. "Poor Gracie."

Sara's bed was covered with piles of folded laundry, and rather than move them, Grissom sat down in the armchair. He was curious as to the cause of Gracie's heartbreak, but he had no doubt that the matter was private.

But Sara flopped down on her bed, careless of the jeans and shirts, and rolled over onto her side. "It's a long story, but…"

Grissom raised a brow. "Should you be telling me?"

"Oh sure," Sara said without hesitation. "Grace trusts you."

Grissom blinked at that, but before he could ask how Sara knew, she was continuing.

"Her ex, Danny, killed himself last night." Sara sighed again. "He's been in a mental institution for the past seven years--classic paranoid schizophrenia." Grissom saw a shudder pass over her, quick and subtle, and wanted to reach out and gather her up, but refrained from interrupting.

"They were college sweethearts, planned on getting married, but then he started showing signs." Sara's mouth twisted sadly. "He had a persecution complex, the whole works, and his family was useless. Gracie dropped out of college to take care of him, but he kept getting worse and worse. After a while she didn't even know where he was half the time, so when he came back one time she had him committed."

Grissom winced inwardly. It was far too easy to imagine Grace's despair.

"She works like crazy to keep him in someplace better than the state institution." Sara shook her head. "She's made of steel to keep that up and go to school too. But last night he apparently went completely over the edge, and they didn't find him in time."

She stared at the floor. Grissom remembered what she'd told him about her experiences with such places, and held out one hand. "Come here."

Sara looked up, then swung her legs off the bed and stood up, putting her hand in his. Grissom drew her gently forward and coaxed her down onto his lap--a slightly ridiculous position given the length of her legs, but he didn't care. She sat stiffly for a moment, then gradually relaxed, letting him pull her head to his shoulder. She let out another sigh, a deep one, as he cuddled her, and he let himself enjoy the moment even as he sorrowed for Gracie's loss. He'd come so close to losing Sara a second time; this was too precious to waste.

"How'd it go?" Sara asked after a while, her breath brushing across his collar. Grissom let one hand stroke her hair.

"Acceptably. I got things started, anyway."

She nodded under his fingers, and her arm, burrowed behind his back, snugged a little closer. "How is she?"

He blew out a breath. "Confused. Indignant. She remembers getting lost, but I don't think she realizes why it happened." Grissom's mouth twitched at the memory of Rosalie's silent ranting. "It...comes and goes."

One long-fingered hand reached up to rest on his chest, a gesture not so much of sympathy as of commiseration. Grissom gave into impulse and leaned his cheek on the top of Sara's head. He didn't want to say anything more just then, but she asked no more questions, and for a while they were just quiet together.

It was the faint sound of a door slamming that brought Sara upright and out of Grissom's lap in one lithe motion, leaving his arms suddenly empty. "I forgot--the kids went to skating after school--"

She strode across the room and out the door so quickly that it took Grissom several seconds to catch up. As he came down the second flight of stairs he saw that Ed and Gracie were no longer in the living room; Sara was helping Joseph with his stuck coat zipper as Kimmy took off her own coat. Both kids had cheeks flushed with exercise and were chattering excitedly about skating with their friends.

Grissom sat on the arm of the couch, returning Kimmy's wave of greeting, and watched as Sara waited for the children's enthusiasm to run down a little. "Guys," she said at last, still kneeling, "I need to tell you something serious."

When she had their attention, she rested her hands on her thighs and went on. "Gracie's here, but she's upstairs resting, and I'd like you to be quiet this evening. A friend of hers died yesterday, and she's very sad."

The small faces went sober. "Was it her mommy?" Joseph asked after a moment, and Sara put an arm around him.

"No. It was a friend of hers from college. He was...sick, for a long time." Sara grimaced, obviously searching for words. "Your dad's looking after her for a little while, so he's going to be busy tonight too."

"But I'm hungry," Joseph said, looking slightly distressed. Despite the sad situation, Grissom had to suppress another snort of amusement; Sara's lack of skill in the kitchen was a fact of life to her small relations.

"We could go to McDonald's," Kimmy pointed out hopefully.

"Not on a school night," Sara returned firmly. "You know the rules. I'll make you some eggs or something."

Joey's lip quivered, and Kimmy looked sulky. Grissom stepped forward and laid a hand on Sara's shoulder. "I could fix something, if you like."

Sara looked up at him, surprise and relief on her face. "That would be great."

Grissom nodded, and went off to investigate the contents of the Sidles' pantry.

He was in the middle of rigatoni parmesan and his mother's apple salad when he heard Ed's voice in the living room where Sara was helping the children with their homework. After a moment, the elder Sidle appeared in the kitchen, face drawn but not upset. "Hey," he said quietly, going to the refrigerator and pouring himself a glass of juice.

"Is Gracie all right?" Grissom asked, spooning out brown sugar.

Ed swallowed a gulp of the liquid and shrugged. "She will be. It's half relief, really, and of course she feels guilty about feeling relieved."

Grissom stirred the salad dressing. "That makes sense." He tapped the spoon against the edge of the bowl. "How did you know that I knew what had happened?"

Ed shrugged. "I knew Sara would tell you." He finished off the juice and set the glass in the dishwasher. "Grace is asleep for now, but I'm going to go back up and keep an eye on her; she shouldn't be alone right now." His eyes were bleak.

_I suppose he would know, even if the circumstances aren't the same._ Grissom nodded, and made a mental note to ask Sara where the trays were kept.

When the pasta was ready to come out of the oven, Grissom scanned the chore chart kept on the refrigerator and saw that it was Joey's night to set the table, so he stuck his head out into the living room. "Dinner's almost ready," he said quietly. "May I borrow Joseph?"

Sara, bent over Kimmy's math book, patted Joey's shoulder with a teasing smile. "Hurry up, kiddo, I'm starving and it smells really good."

Grissom, amused at the compliment, gave her a wink and went back to his preparations. Joey followed him. "What's on the menu?" he asked with gravity.

"Macaroni and cheese, and fruit salad," Grissom answered. "But I think you should only set four places. I'll take some dinner up to your dad and Gracie later."

"Okay," Joey said, not commenting further, and washed his hands before assembling plates and silverware. Grissom, having seen him perform the chore before, knew Joey would get it right, and reserved only the heavy baking dish for himself. He spooned out two generous portions and covered them before taking it out to the dining room and calling to Sara and Kimmy to wash their own hands.

Dinner was somewhat subdued, but the speed with which it vanished assured Grissom that his skills had not waned. As Joseph began clearing the table, Grissom laid a hand on Sara's arm. "Should I take a tray up to Ed and Grace?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Let me go up first and see…"

She trailed off, but Grissom nodded, squeezing her arm gently, and then let her go and started stacking plates.

**x**

Sara knocked softly on the door to Ed's bedroom, not wanting to wake Gracie, and then at Ed's bidding pushed the door open. The room was dim, with just one low lamp on, and Ed was sitting in the battered armchair next to his big bed, watching the woman sleeping there.

"Want some dinner?" Sara asked quietly.

Ed sighed. "I guess it would be a good idea."

She gave him an arch look. "Careful with that enthusiasm, you might hurt yourself."

That did the trick; he snickered. "Yes, thank you, I'd love some dinner."

"Better."

As Sara spoke, Gracie made a low whimpering sound, and uncurled from her huddle. Ed leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "Grace...it's okay."

His attention was all for her, but Sara nodded anyway. "Two plates," she said, and went back downstairs.

Grissom was helping Joey load the dishwasher when she came into the kitchen, and Sara pointed at the items stacked in the sink. "You cooked, I'll wash."

"I'll dry," he countered easily, and then glanced at Joseph. "Unless that's your department?"

Joey put a last glass in the upper rack and shook his head. "My hands aren't big enough yet." He held them up solemnly, fingers spread, and Sara melted a little as Grissom nodded equally gravely.

"Makes sense. I think that's it, Joey, and if not I'll get the rest. You go ahead."

"Okay!" Joseph flashed him a sudden smile, and slapped five on the hand Grissom held out in the ritual they'd developed. Then he was scampering out of the room, and Grissom turned to Sara with both brows raised.

She couldn't keep back the grin, and walked over to kiss him. "You have _no_ idea how cute you look."

Grissom returned the kiss without hesitation, but his expression was skeptical. "I am far too old and dignified to be cute."

"Nobody's too old to be cute, especially you," Sara returned, pretending to straighten his collar. "And you're not old. Gracie's awake, so we might as well make it two plates."

"Already done." Grissom stepped away and picked up a plate on the counter, removing the plastic wrap and putting it into the microwave. Another stood waiting. "There's some fruit left, too."

Sara divided the remainder of the salad into two small bowls while Grissom heated the rigatoni and collected silverware. They arranged the meals on two trays, and Sara added a couple of bottles of water from the fridge before they each picked up a tray.

Gracie was sitting up when they entered the room, still looking very pale and shocky, but her smile was genuine this time, if weak. Sara set her tray down in Gracie's lap while Grissom handed his to Ed, and after murmured thanks from both recipients they went back downstairs to start the dishes.

"Feel like hanging around?" Sara asked casually as she scrubbed at the casserole dish, and Grissom, drying a paring knife, shot her a teasing look.

"I thought you'd never ask."

She grinned back, delighted that he was there. "Hey, we haven't had dessert yet, and I happen to know there's an untouched half-gallon of mint chip in the freezer."

"That's a deal-maker," Grissom deadpanned, and took the heavy dish as she finished rinsing it. "I see what Joey meant about his hands."

Sara nodded. "His grip strength isn't quite up to ceramic bakeware yet, but give him six months."

Kimmy stuck her head in the kitchen door at that moment. "Aunt Sara, do I have to practice tonight? Daddy said Gracie was sleeping."

Sara knew that Kimmy's concern for their guest was no doubt augmented by a desire to get out of clarinet practice for a night, but she acquiesced. "She's not sleeping now, but I think you're right; tonight should be quiet. You finish your homework?"

Kimmy nodded, and Sara glanced at the clock. It was just past seven. "Okay. Tell Joey you two can watch a movie as long as you _don't _fight over which one. Then it'll be bedtime for both of you."

Kimmy nodded again, much more enthusiastically, and vanished. Sara chuckled and unplugged the sink, snagging the towel from Grissom's hands to dry her own. "If you see what movie they picked, I'll get the ice cream."

Grissom put the dish away in the appropriate cabinet. "Are we going to watch with them?"

"Depends on what they pick. If it's _Barbie III..._" Sara shuddered.

Grissom raised his brows again, and went out. Sara pulled down four bowls and found the ice cream scoop; as she began dishing out the confection, Grissom returned.

"It's _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,_" he reported.

Sara let a scoop plop into a bowl. "That sound good to you?"

Grissom shrugged. "Sure, I haven't seen it since it came out in the theater."

Sara had to stare. "You've seen it at all?"

He grinned, and stuck a finger in one bowl before licking off the ice cream. "I like movies."

The unexpectedly boyish gesture made her stomach tingle. "I'll keep that in mind."

They ended up at either end of the couch with the kids in the middle; the younger Sidles devoured their ice cream and watched the screen with the dedication of true fans, though they'd both seen it many times before. Sara, who perforce had seen it many times as well, savored her dessert and watched Grissom covertly. His attention seemed to be fixed on the screen also, though he ate his ice cream more slowly, sucking absently on the spoon when the story got exciting.

Eventually good won out over evil, as it always did, and Sara herded the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. When they were both settled in bed with books, Sara came back down, finding Grissom sitting lengthwise on the couch, reading a copy of _National Geographic _while the TV blathered quietly in the background. Without hesitation she walked over and sat down on his end of the couch.

Grissom tossed the magazine on the coffee table and welcomed her into his arms. "Is there something you want to watch?" he said into her hair.

Sara picked up the remote and shut off the TV before setting it back down and turning to face him. "Nope. I'd rather neck."

His chuckle vibrated through her. "No objections h--"

She covered his lips with hers before he could finish the sentence, and for a while they traded kisses in the quiet dimness of the living room. Grissom tasted of mint and chocolate and himself, and it was a flavor that Sara found herself craving more and more.

In fact, they became so involved that the sound of a door closing overhead startled them slightly. Sara lifted her head from Grissom's throat, where she was exploring the edge of his beard in detail, and glanced over at the stairs. Another door closed.

"Bathroom," she said with a sigh.

He let out his own breath, and pulled the hem of her shirt down with gentle fingers. "I should go."

Sara opened her mouth to object, and then saw the glitter in his eyes, and rethought. _Much as I'd like to continue this, the couch in my brother's living room isn't the place._ "It is getting kind of late," she agreed.

It took them a minute to find Grissom's jacket; he'd left it in the kitchen when he'd made Gracie's tea. Sara saw him to the front door and got one last, lingering kiss, and watched him drive away with a pang. _I don't like being apart from him._

Restless, she went back up to the living room and sat back down on the couch. The magazine absorbed her attention for a while, until footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Ed was carrying the stacked trays and used dishes, and he nodded as he headed into the kitchen. Sara stood up and followed him, leaning on the counter and watching as he put the dishes into the washer. "How is she?"

"Asleep again," Ed said. "It's a good thing; I don't think she's slept since last night. She spent most of the night at the hospital."

Sara nodded. "Will she be okay?"

"Eventually." Ed added soap to the washer and closed it, pressing the start button.

Sara could tell from the set of his face that he didn't really want to talk about Gracie at the moment, so she nodded again. "You need anything?"

Ed looked up, and gave her half a smile as he started running water into the sink. "Not right now. Thanks."

She was deep in an article on rainforests when Ed trotted down the stairs to the ground floor, and only vaguely registered the clank and slam of the dryer door, or his returning footsteps.

"I'll be in the guest room if you need me," he announced, striding back past with a pair of pajama pants flung over his shoulder.

"What for?" Sara inquired absently, then looked up. "Oh. _Ed_--"

He paused. "What?"

She gave him a dry look. "Please do not tell me that you're leaving her alone in your room.'

Her brother flushed slightly. "I don't want to wake her--she's exhausted."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Sara shook her head. "Ed, she needs somebody with her right now. She needs _you._"

The flush deepened, though Ed remained silent, and when Sara figured out what he was thinking, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please._ This is totally different from me and Gil."

He looked away. "I can't break my own rule."

Amused, exasperated, Sara set aside the magazine and stood to go over and slip her arms around his waist. "Ed. I know neither of you are stupid enough to sleep together right now. But Grace needs someone _there._ And as far as the kids are concerned, you're not dating--yet."

Ed let out a chuffing breath. "So I won't be a howling hypocrite if I do spend the night in there?"

Sara let him go and reached up to ruffle his hair. "Extenuating circumstances."

He ducked away. "All right, all right. Just this once." He gave her a puckish grin.

"Move it, Eddie," Sara ordered, grinning back, and watched him run up the stairs, pajama legs flapping behind him. He never seemed to go anywhere slowly.

Suddenly sleepy, Sara followed him, yawning openly since there was no one to see her. _I hope they do get their asses in gear this time. Ed needs her, and whether she'll admit it or not, Gracie needs him._

_Maybe we can double date._

Snickering at the thought, she climbed the last flight and went to bed.

**See Chapter 19**


	19. Chapter 19

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**THE RATING HAS NOW CHANGED. Please take note. **

Both restaurants exist. Great food! 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara licked raspberry jam from her lips and dropped the last crust of her toast onto her plate with a pleased sigh. It was a bright and shiny morning, in contrast to yesterday's greys; she'd woken to see the vivid blue of sky through the skylights overhead, and had found the energy to bounce out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast.

The house was beginning to stir around her. As she'd buttered her toast, Sara had heard doors opening and closing overhead, and now light footsteps came down the stairs. Expecting her niece or nephew, Sara was mildly surprised to see Gracie come into the kitchen.

"Hey," she said, smiling at the housekeeper. "How're you feeling?"

Gracie smiled ruefully back, grief still lining her face but without the intolerable heaviness of the evening before. "Better, thanks." She was dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater she'd worn the day before, somewhat wrinkled, and her hair--far curlier than Sara's--rioted around her head as though static-charged. "Coffee?"

Sara pointed at the machine, which had already provided her with a cup. "You know where the mugs are."

Gracie poured, added half-and-half, and sat down on one of the counter stools, across from Sara. "Ed's sound asleep in the chair, and if I thought he'd go back to sleep I'd wake him and make him move to the bed."

Sara snickered. "He can sleep like a pretzel, don't worry about it." She picked up her crust and nibbled on it absently. "Besides, the kids'll be up soon, and no one can sleep through that."

"Too true." Gracie pushed back her hair in a rather futile gesture. "Do the kids know?"

Sara dusted crumbs from her fingers. "Just that you lost a sick friend."

Gracie's laugh lacked humor. "Sick…yeah." She shook her head tiredly. "Simpler that way, I guess."

"Gracie…I'm sorry," Sara said, feeling awkward but wanting to offer something.

The other woman smiled again, sadly. "Me too." She swallowed, and rubbed her hands over her face. "Blast…I wasn't going to cry any more."

Sara slipped off her perch and came around the counter, putting an arm around Gracie. "I think you're allowed to."

Gracie leaned against Sara's shoulder, but only wept a little, sniffling into the paper napkin that Sara handed her. When she straightened, Sara let her go. "Want some breakfast?"

Gracie wiped her eyes. "I don't think I'm hungry yet…thanks, though." She threw the napkin into the trash. "I'm going to take a shower before the kids get up."

Sara grinned. "Good idea. Do you still keep a spare set of clothes in your car?" At Gracie's nod, she continued. "Give me your keys and I'll get your bag, then."

When Sara came back with the small duffle, Gracie was still in the kitchen, sharing a long hug with a sleep-tousled Kimmy. She took the bag with a murmur of thanks, and Sara left the two of them, suddenly remembering that she'd never gotten back to Toby's supervisor evaluation.

It was no more fun to complete than it had been the night before, but Sara finished it quickly, giving Washington his usual top marks. As she scrawled her signature on the appropriate line, however, she realized with a sudden pang that she might not be around to fill out another in a year's time.

Sitting back in her chair, she tapped the pen against her lips, thinking. _This is something we need to discuss, soon. Even if Grissom gets his leave extended, we don't have a lot of time before he has to do…something. _

For a moment Sara felt as if accepting a relationship with Grissom had tipped her over some steep slope, and that they were rushing with increasing speed into a future she couldn't see clearly. Then she sniffed and flipped the pen onto her desk.

_Bullshit. This is what we both want; all it means is that we're going to have to start making decisions together instead of separately. _

She looked around the room. She'd made it her own, in a haphazard fashion, and it was comfortable and welcoming, but it had never been meant to be permanent. _And the thing about being a Bureau agent is that it's a portable job._ She could request reassignment, if she chose, and she was likely to get it. _I could even quit, and go back to being a CSI. Or do something else._

She did enjoy her job, though. Being a special agent gave her more proactive opportunities than the more specialized field of evidence collection and interpretation, and while her focus was still mainly on forensics, there were plenty of times when she wasn't just cleaning up after a crime.

For a little while, Sara let herself daydream about coming home to Grissom instead of two kids and her brother. It was a dream she'd had before, and had set aside; now it was infused with a delicious sense of possibility. Finding him asleep on the couch, or tapping at the computer with his glasses sliding down his nose; or getting there before him and ordering something delicious for dinner to surprise him.

Sara grinned to herself, slow and confident. _This could really work. _

When she came back downstairs, the floor was filled with the scent of sausage and toast, and everybody was up. Ed was making huge breakfasts in the kitchen, directing his children with the distraction of a master chef hard at work; Gracie was sitting on the couch with her cellphone headset in one ear, talking and trying to work a comb through her wet hair. Sara waded calmly through the chaos, returning Gracie's absent wave, and made her way to her brother's side.

"Want me to take the kids off your hands today?" she asked under the cover of Kimmy arguing with Joseph over orange juice.

He shot her a grateful look. "Would you mind? Grace has a million things she has to do today, and I'd like to keep an eye on her."

"No problem." She patted his shoulder. "I'll take 'em downtown or something." She poured herself more coffee and grabbed the kitchen phone extension, backing into a corner to stay out of the way and punching in Grissom's number.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hello, Sara."

Sara smiled at the sound of his voice. "Hey, Gil. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nope." In the background she heard the slightly tinny sound of the TV. "I've been up for a bit."

She nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Listen, I'm going to take the kids for the day so Ed can be with Gracie--do you want to come along?" She'd planned to see if he were free anyway, but Grace's loss changed things.

"I can't," he said regretfully. "I have to make some phone calls, and I'm scheduled to give a basic entomological evidence collection lecture this afternoon."

"Duty calls, huh?" Sara said, amused at the thought of Grissom teaching a bunch of rookie CSIs to pick up larvae. _But he does it so well._ "That's cool."

"Could we meet for dinner later, though?" he asked. "I very much want to see you."

"You bet. Without the kids, I promise."

Grissom chuckled. "Give me a call when you're ready, then. I'll make reservations. Where do you want to go?"

"Someplace fancy, surprise me," Sara said lightly. Ed waved at her across the kitchen, pointing towards the dining room, and she sighed. "Oops, gotta go."

"Enjoy your day, Sara," Grissom said, and she could all but hear him smiling. "I'll see you later."

Breakfast was noisy with chatter. After eating a second breakfast, the enormous omelette Ed had concocted for her--_I need the protein if I'm going to keep up with the rugrats all day_--Sara set down her napkin and took charge. "Okay, small stuff. Today, we are going to go shopping for clothes." At Joey's groan, she held up a hand. "_And,_ if you cooperate and don't whine at me, we can go to Generous George's afterwards."

As she expected, the bribe of the pizza and play restaurant sweetened the idea. Joey and Kimmy traded glances and scrambled from their chairs. Before she could squawk at them about the table, Gracie laughed. "I'll clear, Sara, don't worry about it. You might as well take advantage of their enthusiasm while you've got it."

"Yeah. Wish me luck," Sara said wryly, and rose to follow them. The fact that Kimmy hadn't voiced a protest made her suspect that her niece no longer regarded clothes as mere unavoidable necessities.

Her suspicions proved true, and Joseph was downright fidgety by the time Kimmy's spring outfits were settled to her satisfaction, but he didn't whine. Sara let him sit in the center of the clothing carousels with his own bags, knowing that after his scare in August he would not let himself get lost again, and debated price and suitability with Kimmy. Eventually they reached a medium tolerable if not happy, and Sara bought a round of milkshakes before they headed for the shoe store.

There Joey brightened, and managed to successfully charm his aunt into purchasing him a pair of sneakers with lights in the soles. Sara's initial reservations were rather thwarted by the fact that she found herself wishing they came in adult sizes.

"Just don't grow out of them too fast," she teased, and watched her brother's grin flash over Joey's face. It was no use anyway; the past three years had deeply impressed upon Sara just how quickly children could grow.

As they left the shoe store, the kids carrying two new pairs each, Sara surveyed their spoils. _Not bad, if I do say so myself. We might not even have to shop again until September. _

_Yeah, right._

"Pizza, guys?" she asked, and laughed as they cheered.

**xxxx**

He knew it didn't matter to Sara, but Grissom made an extra effort to be on time, even a little early, for their date that evening; the memory of canceling their last one was still stingingly fresh in his mind. _It matters to **me.**_

Unlike other women of his acquaintance--including his mother--Sara was generally ready when he arrived, and this time was no exception. As he pulled up in front of the house she swept out the front door like a strong wind, the hem of her overcoat fluttering as she strode down the steps and along the sidewalk. Seeing that he didn't have time to get out and open her door from the outside, Grissom merely leaned over and unlatched it, noting as he did so that her eyes were brilliant with some strong emotion and her color was high.

Sara swung down into the seat, displaying smooth calves as she folded her skirt in with her, and closed the door, but before Grissom could get a word out she cupped his face in her hands and gave him a long, firm kiss.

He wasn't about to object.

"Thank God," she said throatily when she was done. "I am so in need of adult company tonight."

Amused, Grissom reached up for her hands and kissed the palms, much as he had a few days before. "Did you have a good time with the kids?"

Sara touched his nose gently with one finger and then let her hands drop. "Yeah, actually, we got a lot done. They were good today." She reached for her seatbelt. "So where are we going?"

Grissom put the car in gear. "Jaleo, if that suits."

She sighed happily. "Perfect."

Grissom pulled back out onto the street, pleased, and determined to savor every moment of the evening. His new awareness of how close he'd come to losing Sara made him pay attention to every detail, even if his eyes had to concentrate on driving--her low hum, the rustle of her clothing, the apples-and-warmth scent of her hair and skin. She had her hair pulled up in a chignon, which displayed the elegant length of her neck, and it was a style he appreciated deeply, all the more so because she used it so rarely.

It was his pleasure to walk with her into the tapas restaurant, and to help her out of her coat. Sara pursed her lips as he did so, smothering her grin, but Grissom just smirked back. It was part of the game they played--he knew as well as anyone her independence, but she let him make the courtly gestures because he enjoyed doing so. And, he also knew, in the right mood she enjoyed them too.

They lingered over dinner, sharing a pitcher of sangria and talking about the latest innovations in DNA processing. It didn't surprise Grissom that Sara could be just as bewitching when discussing science as when she was in his arms; after all, she'd been enspelling him for years. The fact that he could now discuss the finer points of evidence collection with a Sara whose silky burgundy dress drew admiring eyes, and whose lips he had kissed into silence more than once, just made it all the richer.

As they left the restaurant, Grissom slipped her arm through his. "What's your pleasure? It's still early."

Sara considered for a moment. "I'm wearing the wrong shoes for walking. How about we just go back to your place? I'm not ready to turn into a pumpkin yet."

He inclined his head, pleased all over again. "As my lady wills." And warmed to her chuckle.

The fact that Sara felt able to make herself at home in his space was another plus; when they arrived she shed her coat before he could take it from her, and stepped out of her shoes on the way to one of the chairs, curling up her legs in a froth of skirt and setting her purse aside. Grissom, not for the first time, regretted that he hadn't gotten a suite with a couch, but there was no helping it at the moment. He hung up his own sports jacket and went into the kitchen to start some coffee. He watched her through the kitchenette window as she idly turned the bracelet on her wrist, around and around; the polished amber caught the light and gleamed.

They were still chatting idly about new rulings on evidence collections, and Grissom wasn't paying much attention to what he was doing; without looking down, he misjudged the edge of the counter and dropped the little cream pitcher.

The kitchenette's linoleum was well-padded; it didn't shatter. But the half-and-half swamped his shoes in a small white wave, soaking into his socks. He swore mildly.

"What's the matter?" Sara asked, alert. Grissom shook his head.

"I dropped the pitcher, that's all. Nothing major." He collected a handful of paper towels and crouched to blot up the spill, regarding his milky shoes with disfavor. "I have to go change my socks."

"Did it break?"

"Nope." Grissom wiped the soles of his shoes and threw out the towels, then headed for his bedroom, slightly squelchy. "Give me a minute here."

It didn't take long for him to rinse out his shoes and towel them off in the small bathroom, and a little warm water washed the stickiness from his feet. Grissom wrung out his socks and left them draped over the edge of the tub to dry. _At least I still have some half-and-half left in the fridge. _

Slightly disgusted at his clumsiness, he went back to the bedroom to rummage for fresh socks. As he pulled a pair from the dresser, Sara appeared in the doorway. "Umm..."

Grissom cocked his head, wondering why she looked uncomfortable. "Yes?"

"Uh, do you mind if I stay?"

She shot him a slightly uncertain glance, and the first thing that crossed his mind was _I thought you **were** staying,_ and then…_Ohhh. _

_We really **are** bad at this. _

"Sara…" He set down the socks, then reached out and took both her hands in his, loving the way his fingers could wrap all the way around her wrists with room to spare. "I would like nothing better."

He tugged, and she stepped into his embrace with a breath of a laugh, half relief and half amusement. The kiss was long and slow and promising, the slide of her lips against his the one thing, the only thing. "You should know that by now," he murmured as it ended.

"Mmm…" Sara's fingers were on the nape of his neck, where they belonged. "I'll remember it next time."

"Mm," Grissom agreed, and kissed her again, feeling both anticipation and an unfamiliar joy. For a while they did nothing more, simply exploring each other's mouths and faces with a slow and intense concentration.

Grissom felt absolutely no need to rush; yes, the urgency of need lay underneath the pleasure, but the desire to go slowly, to make the most of each moment was paramount. There would be many more times for them, God willing, but never again a first time. He wanted to show Sara just how much she meant, how important she was to him…how essential.

He kept one arm around her, but used the other to pull the pins from her chignon, one by one, until it came down in a slow fall of fragrant strands. He let his fingers run through her hair, again and again; it felt so smooth, warm and cool at the same time and catching a little where his fingertips were rough. "Sorry," he muttered against her mouth the first time it yanked slightly, but Sara just made a purring sound and kissed him harder.

He didn't argue.

By all logic, it should have been awkward. Or, given how much time had passed between their first aware glance and the present, fast. But it was neither; instead, it seemed to Grissom that his fingers knew Sara's skin even as he uncovered it, that he had no reason to hesitate or hurry. He worshiped at his leisure, concentrating on each new secret, on every detail of her spare and rangy beauty.

Sara insisted on her own share of exploration, though Grissom managed to distract her from time to time. It became another game, in a way, Sara's clever hands pulling his shirt off, only to have it fall from her weakened grasp as Grissom found another sensitive spot. Her mild, teasing complaints turned into soft moans, and he smiled against her freckles, loving each cairngorm spatter.

It was when he reached into the bedside table's drawer that her fingers encircled his wrist in turn, and he glanced back to her flushed face, her eyes so intense that he couldn't look away. "I'm on the Pill," she informed him, half-asking, and without protest he shut the drawer again and returned to her.

There were a thousand clichés filed in his memory, but the only one that mattered was that this was one of the most important things he'd ever done; making Sara his, becoming hers. Making her laugh breathlessly, and sob; feeling all his own words vanish as his senses overwhelmed him.

There was no reason for it to be perfect, but it was.

**x**

Something was tickling his cheek. Grissom wrinkled his nose, and then opened his eyes to the golden dimness of his bedroom, unfamiliar in that he'd left the light on, and in that there was a Sara in his bed.

She drew back her fingers, her dreamy expression vanishing into mild dismay. "Oh--I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Grissom regarded her for a moment. She was tousled and warm with sleep, her lips slightly swollen and her throat reddened again where he'd been a little too enthusiastic. The smile came unbidden, but he didn't try to stop it.

She came willingly into his arms, and Grissom kept one underneath her while he used the other hand to brush hair from her eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly.

He half-expected her to ask why, but she just looked at him for a long moment, and then her lips were on his before he had time to worry about his breath.

"Mine," she muttered when she lifted her head, and Grissom slid his hand up her spine and grinned at her.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

Sara folded her arms on his chest and set her chin on them, regarding him mischievously. "What makes you say that?"

Grissom tilted his head. "You wore matching underwear."

She snickered. "And that's supposed to tell you something?"

He shrugged a little, appreciating the fact that she wasn't wearing any at the moment. "You don't strike me as the sort of woman who normally wastes time on that kind of detail."

This time she laughed outright. "You're right about the underwear. As for the rest of it, I didn't exactly plan...I just figured that if things worked out..."

She was starting to blush, and it was adorable. Grissom rolled them both over onto their sides, tugging the sheet up a bit against the cool air, and kissed her again, long and soft and slow. "Does Ed know you're not coming home?" he asked. There were still places on her he didn't know yet.

"Yep." Sara smoothed the hair at his temple, her expression so tender that his breath caught, and he took her wrist so he could kiss the inside of her elbow.

Her gasp made him very, very happy. "Good."

**x**

The shower was really too small for two, but they managed, soaping each other's backs and laughing as they passed the washcloth back and forth. Afterwards he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and Sara reclaimed his drawstring trousers and a dress shirt. He brushed his teeth, watching in the mirror as she rubbed lotion into the skin on her arms.

"Go back to bed," Grissom said, after rinsing and wiping his mouth.

Sara blinked, raising a brow at his reflection. "What?"

"Go back to bed," he repeated, and turned to kiss her. "I can't make you breakfast in bed if you're not in bed, now can I?"

Grissom had no idea why that should make her suddenly sniffle, but before he could ask, Sara nodded. "Okay. Can I change the sheets?"

"Fresh ones are in the closet." He let her go, and pointed. "Are you all right?"

Her grin was sudden and brilliant. "Hell yeah!"

Breakfast didn't take him very long; Grissom blessed the fact that he'd frozen a batch of muffins the week before, and set them to defrost while he made an omelette. He could hear Sara singing quietly to herself in the bedroom; at one point she came out to the living room get something from her purse, and scooped up the paper he'd brought in from the hallway before shooting him another grin and disappearing back into the bedroom. Grissom stirred eggs and made fresh coffee, his hands performing the tasks automatically while his dazzled mind went back again and again to the fact that not only had he finally made love with the love of his life, with _Sara,_ she was still in his bedroom, in his bed.

Happy.

That was the crux of it, he mused as he added mushrooms and cheese to the pan. _She's happy. I make her happy. _

_**I** make her happy. _

He sliced the omelette in half, dished it out, and added the warmed muffins before pouring coffee. _Wow._

A cookie sheet made an adequate tray, but the spread still seemed a little bare. On impulse, Grissom reached for a coffee filter; Warrick had shown him a trick once.

A few minutes later, he was all set, with his paper rose sitting in a small glass bowl. Grissom carried it the few yards to his bedroom, and paused in the doorway to admire.

Sara had piled all the pillows against the headboard to lean back against and had somehow twisted her damp hair up onto her head; a pencil was stuck through the hair, making her look charmingly schoolgirlish. She was pursing her lips over a section of the newspaper, a pen in her hand. Grissom's heart ached a little in his chest, a sweeter hurt than the one he'd carried for three years; she was so alive, and so amazing, and so his.

And then he realized what she was doing, and stepped forward. "Hey!"

Sara looked up, eyes widening as she took in what he was carrying. "Wow, you weren't kidding, were you?"

Grissom tried to give her a stern look. "Are you doing my crossword puzzle?"

Sara tossed it onto the bedside table. "Not anymore. That smells terrific, Gil."

He walked to the bed and set the tray down in her lap, then slid in beside her. "Do we have to negotiate on crossword puzzles? Because they're an important part of my morning ritual."

"Relax." Sara broke one of the muffins apart, and popped a piece into his mouth before biting into the other half. "Mmm, these are great," she said, somewhat indistinctly.

He had to admit, they were pretty good. Swallowing his bite, he reached her for the folded paper, ignoring her eyeroll, and looked down at the puzzle.

Only some of the squares were filled in; Grissom realized that Sara had used only vowels.

"You can do the consonants," Sara said cheerfully, and sliced off a bit of omelette.

_How I love this woman._ Laughing, Grissom set the paper aside, and joined her for breakfast.

**See Chapter 20**


	20. Chapter 20

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**THE RATING HAS NOW CHANGED. Please take note. **

I'm glad so many of you liked the crossword idea in the last chapter! It was Cinco's idea. (grin) 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara climbed the stairs to the townhouse's main floor, feeling unfamiliarly...achy.

In a good way.

She could hear the vaguely melodious sound of Kimmy practicing her clarinet, but it was faint enough to indicate that Kimmy was in her room. Sara smiled; she didn't feel like talking to anyone just now.

The door to Ed's study was shut, which meant that he was in it and didn't want to be disturbed. Sara hung up her coat and headed up to the third floor, pausing to stick her head in through Kimmy's open door. _I'm back, _she mouthed to her niece, and waved, and Kimmy waggled the clarinet at her without ceasing her scale.

She went up one more flight and closed her own door, dumping her bag on one chair; the contents could go into the laundry and the dry-cleaning bin later. Kicking off her shoes, she walked over to her dresser and stood in front of it, taking stock in the mirror.

She looked rumpled and extremely casual in Grissom's clothes; her hair was loose and she wore no makeup, and she had a fresh beard burn on her throat. Unbuttoning the shirt halfway, she pulled it aside to reveal the small bruise just below her collarbone. Sara knew she had another set on her hip.

_Well, to be fair, he's got that nice fresh bite mark on his shoulder. _

Her grin was unrepentant and downright wicked. _Damn, it's about time._

Sara stretched her arms over her head, then dropped onto her bed, taking up as much of the available space as she could. She felt tired, slightly sore...and very, very smug.

_I've been wondering for more than a decade about the taste of his skin. _

And now she knew not only that, but the weight of him on her, the feel of his fingers caressing her breast; the heat of him inside her, the break in his voice when he went over the edge. All memories to be savored, treasured...and added to.

It hadn't surprised her that Grissom was a thorough lover; it was inherent to his personality. What had surprised her was how quickly he had set aside gentleness for intensity, but it had been a welcome surprise. That many years of sexual tension were best served by the slow and in-depth lovemaking they'd enjoyed.

It had been amazing.

Sara suspected now that Grissom's keeping her at arms' length all those years had something to do with his ability to focus. As the past few months had proved, once he turned his attention to someone or something, he gave _all _his attention. Before, it had been his work.

_Now...it's me._

On some level, Sara reflected, that should creep her out, but it didn't. _He can get a little obsessive, but this is special circumstances. Once he's back in a rhythm, instead of a holding pattern, we'll both adjust._

She frowned, and rolled onto her side, snagging her lizard for a hug since Grissom wasn't within reach. _We really need to talk about this. Later this week, maybe._ In truth, there had scarcely been time lately, and the evening before had been reserved for fun, not serious discussion.

_Okay. Tuesday, then._

The smirk that kept sneaking up on her reappeared, and Sara curled a little tighter. It had been a very long time for both of them, and there was nothing like a little tension release, on top of the emotional fulfillment.

_And the best part is, we can do it again._

Sara tugged the sheet over herself, yawning and suddenly too tired to even pull off the pants. Closing her eyes, she drifted off into a sated sleep, remembering the incredibly comforting feel of arms around her and a wide chest pressed against her back.

_Oh yeah. _

**xxxx**

Grissom raised a hand to the Sidles' doorbell, but before he could press the button, the door opened to reveal Ed. "Saw you on the way out. We really need to get you a key," he said, standing aside so Grissom could come in. "Later."

Before Grissom could even ask where Ed was going at six on a Tuesday evening, Ed had disappeared through the garage door. Chuckling a little, Grissom headed up to the main floor.

It was surprisingly quiet. A faint smell of chicken in the air told him that the family had already eaten, and the living room was empty. Grissom hung up his jacket in the closet and poked his head into the kitchen. and found it empty too.

But as he turned back, someone galloped down the stairs from the third floor. "Oh, hi, Doctor G," Kimmy said, going over to her backpack near the coat closet and rummaging in it. "Aunt Sara's in her room."

"Thank you, Kimmy," he answered gravely. "How are you doing?"

She straightened, clutching a notebook, and flung her hair back. "I have a book report," she said in tones of deep disgust, rolling her eyes. "I hate book reports."

"Why's that?" Grissom asked, waiting for her to start up the stairs first.

She glanced back at him mid-bound without losing her balance, a trick he envied. "It makes the book no fun."

_Not a future literary critic, probably. _Grissom kept his amusement to himself as she went back into her room. He glanced down the hallway; the door to Joey's room was shut, though at this distance Grissom wasn't certain if the wobbly-lettered sign actually said "DO NOT DISTURB" or "DO NOT DISTURP".

Sara's door, at the top of the third flight, was half-open, and Grissom could hear her speaking; he looked inside, and saw her standing with her back to him and her cellphone at her ear.

The sudden interest of his body was a little disconcerting. _Years of celibacy, down the drain._ It wasn't that Sara hadn't been tempting before; she'd tempted him almost since he'd met her, in fact. But now that he _knew…_

Grissom suppressed his libido firmly, and focused on what Sara was saying, trying to figure out whether he should knock or just go away quietly until she was done. But she sounded distressed, and he frowned.

"Toby, I _can't,_" she said. "My brother just left, and there's no one who can watch the kids on ten minutes' notice." She paused, listening. "No, no one. You're just going to have to do this one without me--or I can come in later when he gets back--"

Doubts crowded into Grissom's mind, but he ignored them as he pushed the door all the way open. _You've done this before. It's been a while, but you have._

Sara turned as he crossed her room, brows going up. "I can watch them," he said quietly.

She gave him the sort of look that questioned either his sanity or his determination, he wasn't sure which, but he turned a hand palm-up, confirming his words. She shrugged, then nodded. "Scratch that, Toby, I have a volunteer."

She said goodbye, closed the phone, and pursed her lips at him. "You sure about this?"

"It's a little late to back out now," Grissom pointed out, and took the kiss her mouth seemed to be offering. It pleased him a great deal that her eyes were slightly dazed when he was finished. "What do I need to do?"

Sara took her hands from his waist, where they had ended up. "Not a lot, actually; just make sure that they get to bed on time. They know their routines, and if they give you any trouble, you can let them skip stuff. Not brushing their teeth one night won't kill them." She started stuffing files into her briefcase. "Joey gets half an hour to read in bed, but he's usually out in ten minutes; Kimmy gets an hour, and sometimes you have to turn off her light to make sure she puts the book down."

Grissom nodded, storing the information. "I have both your cell numbers."

Sara closed the case, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Gil. I really wanted to spend the evening with you."

Grissom stuck his hands in his pockets. "Relax, Sara. Work is work. We can always reschedule."

She grinned at him, a little rueful, and picked the case up. "I'll hold you to that. Lemme tell the rugrats that you're in charge, and then I'm out of here."

She went first to Joseph's room. Grissom took the opportunity to make use of the bathroom; when he emerged, her voice was coming from Kimmy's room.

"I'm too old for a babysitter!" Kimmy was complaining, and Grissom stopped to listen.

"That's true, but you're not old enough to watch Joey on your own yet," Sara countered in a reasonable tone. "If this were a real emergency, then you could, but it's not. Anyway, Doctor G is really just here to keep an eye on things in case something happens, and to make sure that Joey gets to bed on time. You're old enough to put yourself to bed."

Grissom felt his lips turn up at her cleverness, and took himself downstairs.

Sara hurried down a minute later, and bent over where he sat on the couch to give him one last kiss. "You might have to help with homework," she warned, "but they got most of it done before dinner. Call if you need anything."

She ruffled his hair, the same casual, loving gesture he'd seen her use on Ed, and was gone.

Grissom smoothed his hair back into place, secretly touched, and considered for a few moments. He didn't really anticipate any problems, but as time spent with Lindsey years ago had shown him, kids were unpredictable. He ran through various scenarios in his head--injury, illness, fire--made sure his cellphone was still on his belt, and picked up a magazine.

Within fifteen minutes, Joey made his way down to the living room. Grissom lowered the magazine and waved, and Joey waved back with elaborate casualness as he went over to the bookshelf that held some of the children's books. Grissom pretended to read as the little boy chose one, figuring that Joseph would take it back upstairs to his room.

Instead, Joey sat down on the couch next to Grissom and slid the book into Grissom's lap. He didn't say anything, but the request was obvious.

Touched again, Grissom thought about asking whether Joey was done with his homework, and then decided it didn't matter. He opened the book and began to read out loud.

They went through three books, and were just finishing the third when Kimmy came downstairs, notebook in hand, and stuffed it back into her backpack. Joey shut the book. "I'm hungry," he announced.

Kimmy straightened. "You can have some fruit," she said, in a big-sister voice. Joey folded his arms and pouted, and a memory rose in Grissom's mind, surprisingly crisp given how much time had passed--the teenaged girl from down the street who had looked after him when his mother was out. Trish had handled his obsession with bugs with the aplomb of someone who had younger brothers, and had had the gift of being agreeable to tiny excursions from the rules that kept him from rebelling. He decided to take a leaf from her book.

"Let's see if there's any ice cream left," he said, pushing to his feet.

"Yesss!" Joey exclaimed, but Kimmy frowned.

"We're only supposed to have healthy snacks on weekdays."

Grissom shrugged casually. "Nobody mentioned that rule to me."

He watched as Kimmy wavered between insisting on the rules, and the temptation of ice cream; if she made a fuss, he decided, he would accede.

But then her eyes went merry, and she pursed her lips just like her aunt. "Guess it doesn't count, then."

Grissom led them into the kitchen, hoping there _was_ ice cream left; the kitchen gods smiled on him, and he found the remainder of the mint chip in the freezer. He dished out small portions, mindful of the effect of sugar on small people, and the three of them sat around the kitchen island and ate peacefully. Watching Joey get some on his nose, Grissom relaxed.

_Trish had the right idea. _

Contrary to Sara's warning, and perhaps because of the ice cream, neither kid gave Grissom any trouble about their bedtime routines. On request, Grissom watched as Joey brushed his teeth, and solemnly checked behind his dresser for monsters before closing his door almost all the way. Kimmy was already in bed, so absorbed in her book that she didn't even look up when Grissom passed by her door. He returned to the main floor and his magazine, and finished three articles before heading back upstairs.

Kimmy was asleep, curled up under her covers with her book on the floor and her light out. Joey had fallen asleep with the book on his chest, bare feet sticking out of rocket-ship pajamas that were getting too short. Grissom removed the book and managed to tug the covers out from under the small limp body; Joseph didn't even stir as Grissom covered him and turned out the light.

Grissom paused in the doorway, bemused by the protective feelings the sleeping child evoked. He really had no desire for children of his own, but…_Does she want them? Not now, obviously, but later? Not too much later--_

It was something else they needed to talk about.

Ed came home just after eleven, looking tired but unsurprised to find Grissom in his living room; Grissom guessed that Sara had called her brother en route to work. "Hey, man, thanks for looking after the spawn."

Grissom set down the book he was reading--he'd been forced to raid the living room bookshelves for reading material by nine-thirty. "Happy to help. Just out of curiosity, where were you?"

Ed shed his overcoat, revealing something Grissom hadn't seen even on Thanksgiving--a suit. "Eh, major dinner party for some prospective funding sources. Eat overpriced food and schmooze, you know how it is."

Grissom snickered. "Yeah, I do." He held up the book, which was about Renaissance art. "May I borrow this?"

Ed hung up his coat and peered at the book. "Oh, sure. That was one of Jen's."

Grissom, having surmised as much, didn't comment, instead closing it and standing up. "I gotta go tell Kimmy I'm home," Ed continued, heading for the stairs.

"She's asleep," Grissom noted, but Ed only nodded.

"I know. I have to wake her up and tell her I'm back. Ever since Jenny died--" He shrugged and disappeared up the stairs.

Grissom watched him go, feeling a pang of sadness for a little girl who was still afraid for her remaining parent, and then went to fetch his coat, realizing suddenly that he was hungry. He and Sara had planned to eat dinner together, and the ice cream was only a memory. _I'll bet she didn't bother to eat either,_ he thought with a touch of grim humor.

As he shrugged into his jacket, Ed came back down the stairs, having already shed his tie and coat. "Here," he said, and tossed something small. Grissom caught it in one fist. It was a key.

He looked back up at Ed, raising his brows. The younger man grinned. "It'll save you having to wait for someone to come down and let you in all the time."

Grissom frowned a little. "Are you sure--I mean, Sara didn't--"

"She wouldn't," Ed replied easily. "She never lets me forget that this is my house." He rolled his eyes in exaggerated impatience. "I swear, sometimes her ideas of what's right are stronger than Joseph's."

Grissom had to chuckle. "It can be an asset sometimes."

Ed snorted. "And a pain in the ass other times." A faint wail of "Daddyyyyy…" floated down the stairs, and he sobered. "Oops, gotta go."

"I'll let myself out," Grissom told him, and suited actions to words. He pulled the key from the door and regarded it thoughtfully before putting it on his own keyring.

The handful of keys were an interesting comment on his life at the moment, he thought. _Keys to my apartment, my car, Sara's house. None of them permanent. _

_We do need to talk._

Folding his fingers around the keys, Grissom headed for his car.

**xxxx**

Sara yawned as she shut the garage door behind her, wondering if she was going to stay awake long enough to get the shower she wanted so badly. _I hate to admit it, but I think I'm getting too old to work triple shifts._

Toby's urgent summons to a crime scene on Tuesday had dropped her right into work, and she hadn't even made it home on Wednesday, instead grabbing a change of clothes from her trunk and more coffee. _I barely even fit in a call to Gil. _

But it was Thursday evening, she was home at last, and her bed was only a couple of floors away. _Ugh. More stairs._

She made her way up the first flight, noting the quiet and figuring dully that the kids were out at practice or lessons or some such; she'd kind of lost track. A light was on in Ed's study, so she walked over to let him know she was back.

She leaned against the doorframe, but Ed, staring blankly at his monitor, didn't look up. This wasn't unusual, but something in his expression troubled Sara slightly, and she rapped gently on the frame with one knuckle.

Ed blinked, shook himself, and looked up. "Hey."

"Hey. What's up?"

Ed chewed on his lip a moment, obviously hesitating, and then picked up a piece of paper from his desk and leaned over to hand it to her. Sara sat down on the edge of a chair piled with files, her brows going up at the rich feel of the heavy paper, and read it.

_Dear Dr. Sidle,_ it began. Sara read it quickly, then looked up at Ed with astonishment, her fatigue receding for the moment. "Whitney University?"

He shrugged, twisting his desk chair back and forth on its pivot. "They want me to head up their research department."

She knew that, the letter said so, but he was apparently not thinking quite clearly. "You, an administrator? They won't know what hit them."

Ed snorted without rancor and took the letter back. "It's a great offer."

Sara set her elbows on her knees and folded her hands, letting them dangle between her legs. "It's an _amazing_ offer." The stated salary had made her whistle silently. "So what's the problem? You've been wanting to get back to California for years."

Ed toyed absently with a pen, spinning it on his cluttered desk. "Well, the environment will be a lot different."

It was her turn to snort. "Yeah. Give me the _real _reason."

His eyes met hers for the first time. "You have to ask?"

Sara cocked her head, restricting her sympathy to her gaze. "So take her with you. She can transfer, and Whitney's a better school than that third-rate community college."

"Yeah. If only it were that easy." Ed blew out a heavy breath. "She hasn't got the money to move, let alone to afford Whitney, and that assumes I could even talk her into it in the first place."

Sara shrugged. "Gracie's got nothing keeping her here now, Ed. She might accept a loan from you. Or--" She considered for a second. "Maybe from me."

Ed brightened a little. "That's a thought." He pointed at her. "And when you go back to Vegas, we'd be closer."

"_If _I go back to Vegas," she corrected automatically, wondering anew if she would.

She regarded Ed for a moment, her lost-and-found brother. She had come to him in grief, both of them mourning a loss, and in healing they had grown together; and now, she wanted him to get what both he and Gracie wanted. Particularly with the new taste of her own happiness fresh on her tongue. "I'll talk to her, as soon as you make the offer."

Rising, she patted his shoulder, and headed out of the office, pausing in the doorway to look back with a grin. "Besides, doesn't the university offer tuition discounts to family members?"

His eyes narrowed, and Sara walked quickly away, snickering. The thwap of the flung pen against her shoulderblade only made her laugh harder.

**See Chapter 21**


	21. Chapter 21

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom opened his door to find Sara leaning in the doorframe with a teasing grin. "You busy today?" she asked.

In answer, he pulled her inside and kissed her soundly. The muffled sound she made against his lips was a hungry one, and Grissom rejoiced in the fact that she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. She was strong and pliant under his hands, and he realized dimly that he'd backed her into the wall, but before he could pull back and apologize she'd yanked him closer.

_Guess I don't need to worry._

He gave himself up to delight.

**x**

"This is really remarkable," he said much later, when they were curled up together in his bed, sweaty and satisfied. Sara grinned at him.

"I'd say it's more like awesome, but yeah."

Grissom chuckled. "I agree, but that's not what I mean. Aren't new lovers usually awkward with one another?"

"We were awkward," she pointed out teasingly. "That whole up against the wall thing needs some work."

He felt his cheeks heating slightly, but didn't let it deter him. "I'll be happy to practice, but you know very well that I'm talking about just...being together in the first place."

Sara rubbed her nose against his bare shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I guess we just know each other well enough."

Grissom let his arm tighten around her, sighing a little for those lost years. "There's that."

Her hand rested on his chest, and he knew she'd forgiven him. He pulled it to his lips for a kiss, then arched a brow at her. "Not to complain, but aren't you supposed to be at work?"

She snickered. "I worked straight through the last couple of days, so Toby kicked me out. Normally I'd go back and bug him, but I figured I'd bug you instead."

"Any time," Grissom told her, pleased beyond measure. "And when you fall over from lack of sleep, I'll just prop you in a corner."

She made to tickle him in revenge until Grissom caught her wrist. "I took a nap before I came over here, falling asleep in the middle of sex is a no-no."

That made him laugh again. "I'll keep that in mind. Are you hungry?"

The look Sara shot him was undeniably suggestive, but she merely grinned. "I could eat lunch."

Over homemade pizza Grissom retrieved from the freezer they chatted about Sara's work and the book Grissom was thinking of writing, but his mind kept returning to the evening before and the sleeping children. Eventually Sara polished off her crust and propped an elbow on the table, setting her chin in her palm and fixing him with an inquiring stare. "Okay, what is it?"

"Hmm?" Grissom wiped his fingers on his napkin.

"You've got something on your mind. Spill it."

Grissom felt his jaw shift, and decided to be equally direct.

"Sara...what do you want?"

He looked so dreadfully earnest, his hair ruffled and his shoulders tensed. Sara felt her amusement fading at the seriousness in Grissom's eyes. "Can you be more specific?" she asked cautiously.

He sighed, and leaned across the table to wrap his fingers around her hand, the clasp warm and reassuring. "I...don't want to push, Sara, but we--I--don't have a lot of time to make decisions. I need to know...what you want."

It was obvious what he meant, and Sara decided to be direct. "I want to be with you, Gil. That's what I've wanted for years."

He smiled as though he couldn't help it, that gently reverent look passing over his face. "That's what I want too. But--do you want to stay here with your family? Come back to Vegas? Go somewhere else?"

"That depends on what you want," she pointed out. "Being a special agent is kind of portable; or I could switch careers again." She squeezed his hand. "I don't think Ed's going to be staying here much longer anyway, he got an offer to teach in California."

Grissom's brows went up. "You think he'll take it?" he asked, diverted.

Sara grinned. "I think he'd be an idiot to turn it down--and while Ed can be a twit sometimes, he's not dumb." She tilted her head. "What do you want to do?"

He shrugged. "Sara, sweetheart, whatever you want is fine with me. The most important thing to me is to be with you."

Sara sighed, half in love and half in exasperation. "Okay, I get that. But what do you _want?_ I mean, assuming all else were equal, what's your best-case scenario?"

Grissom hesitated, and she gave him an encouraging look. "Las Vegas," he said at last, tentatively. "When I think about the future, that's what I see--both of us back in Las Vegas, at my house. Or even in a new one, if you'd prefer. There's a Bureau office in Vegas…"

He trailed off, looking uncertain. Sara leaned forward and kissed him. "Okay," she told him. "That's good to know."

She let his hand go and stood up. "Excuse me a second."

Grissom's eyes were puzzled, but he didn't protest as she retrieved her cellphone from her purse and flipped it open. Her boss answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Toby, it's Sara."

"No, you can't come in," he told her, and she snickered.

"I'm not calling about that, boss. I'm calling to implement Plan B."

There was a little silence, which surprised her. "You sure?" he asked at last.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Damn." Washington sighed. "All right, I'll start things moving. And tell that boyfriend of yours to treat you right, or he'll be in a world of hurt."

"I'll do that," Sara said drolly. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"Oh, I am." He sighed again. "I just hate to lose you, Sidle. The Vegas bureau doesn't know how lucky it is."

Touched, Sara smiled. "Thanks, Toby. I'll miss you too." Across the room she could see Grissom watching her, one arm over the back of his chair, his brows going up at her words. "See you tomorrow."

Washington said goodbye, and Sara closed the phone, feeling a mixture of anticipation and slight apprehension. Her job had been half her stability over the past three-and-a-half years. _But I've got something much better now._ She put the phone away and returned to Grissom, unable to resist the opportunity to stand behind his chair and wrap her arms around his shoulders.

His hands came up to squeeze her arms gently. "Plan B?" he inquired.

"A transfer to the Las Vegas office," she replied, and kissed his temple. Grissom's hands tightened on her forearms.

"What was Plan A?" he asked.

Sara laughed. "Staying in D.C. Toby insisted that I do it in that order."

Grissom twisted in the chair, slipping his arms around her waist and bringing her down into his lap. It was an awkward position in the small chair, but Sara didn't care; Grissom was holding her tightly, his head bent so his face was pressed against her shoulder. "Thank you," he said, his voice muffled.

Words seemed superfluous. Sara just held him, until he started laying kisses along her collarbone. She tried to lift his head to kiss his lips, but he wouldn't let her, eventually startling her by slipping his arm under her knees and lifting her as he stood. "Gil--"

"Shhh." She'd seen his expression before--eyes wide and focused like a laser--when he was concentrating on some piece of vital evidence, but never turned on her. He carried her into his bedroom and laid her down on the rumpled sheets.

Not at all averse, Sara reached for the hem of his shirt, but Grissom caught her wrists gently. "No," he told her. "My turn."

She arched a curious brow and waited to see what he would do.

**x**

Grissom propped his head on his hand and watched Sara sleep beside him. She looked younger when asleep, her face smoothed out, with only the faint pucker between her brows to tell him she might be dreaming. There were still violet shadows under her eyes, but they were fainter than they had been that morning.

"So beautiful," he whispered softly, and she didn't stir. He was still shaken by her casual announcement that she'd just put in for a transfer to Vegas, her easy acceding to _his_ desires. _I don't deserve this._

He was still a little surprised at his own reaction, as well, but Sara hadn't had any objections to being thoroughly loved. It had been quite some time since he'd used a few of those tricks, but a good memory could be a blessing, and the sound of her crying out in ecstasy again and again had been balm to his ears.

Grissom lay down beside her. He wasn't sleepy, but lying next to Sara and listening to her breathe was all he wanted to do at the moment. In his imagination, she'd always slept in a sprawl, arms outflung, taking up mattress space like a cat, but in reality she curled in on herself, hands against her chest and her knees tucked up. He wondered if she were cold, or if it was old habit, a seeking of comfort. Just in case it was cold, he pulled the sheet up over her.

To his dismay, she snuffled and woke, blinking and smiling drowsily. "Go back to sleep," he whispered, but her smile widened and she stretched luxuriously, a process that rather riveted his attention.

"Damn, you know how to make a girl feel good," she said happily, ending the stretch and letting her legs tangle with his. "You're going to have to let me try that sometime."

Grissom felt himself relaxing. "With pleasure," he punned, to make her snicker. "Sara..."

Her face softened, and she reached out to stroke his beard with the backs of her fingers. "Don't doubt," she whispered, and kissed him, soft and lingering. "This is what's supposed to happen. We'll go back to Vegas, and we'll make it work."

It seemed such a simple solution to all his pondering, but Grissom was heartened by her faith. _Once Sara has her mind set on something..._ "Okay," he said.

And believed her.

**xxxx**

Sara sank down in the chair opposite Gracie and blew out a breath of relief. "Sorry I'm late," she said, pitching her voice to be heard over the rumble of the busy diner. "Traffic."

"That's okay," Gracie answered, her smile not quite as cheerful as usual but some long-held strain gone from her face. "I only just got here." She passed Sara a menu. "What's so secret that you couldn't talk about it at the house?"

Sara shrugged and flipped the folder open, though she was pretty sure she already knew what she wanted. "It's not a secret, I just figured that we'd have fewer interruptions here. You know the kids want to be where you are."

Gracie chuckled ruefully, though she didn't look as though she minded. "Too true." She took a sip of her water. "So give already."

Sara set the menu aside. "Ed told you about Whitney, right?" She knew he had.

The other woman's humor ebbed. "Yes, he did. I told him he should go, it's an amazing opportunity."

"He's getting bored with NIAID," Sara agreed.

The server arrived to take their orders; Gracie settled on a cheeseburger, while Sara wanted a fish sandwich and a milkshake. Gracie folded her arms and fixed Sara with a stern look as soon as the boy was gone, a glare belied by the curve at the corner of her mouth. "Well?"

"Are you going with him? I know he asked," Sara said, eschewing subtlety.

Gracie looked away, her good humor vanishing. "I..."

When she didn't continue, Sara leaned her elbows on the table. "He loves you, Grace. You know that."

"Yeah." A rosy blush stained Gracie's face for a moment. "He told me that, but I kind of knew already."

Sara chuckled. "Ed's a straightforward guy."

Gracie nodded, still not meeting Sara's eyes. "I just...I...want to go, but..."

"But?" Sara prodded softly. "You love him, he loves you, the kids love you. What's the problem?"

"I won't be beholden to him." Gracie straightened her shoulders proudly, looking up at last. "That's no way to begin a relationship."

Sara didn't bother with all the logical arguments about give and take and the fact that Ed had plenty of money. _In her position I'd feel the same way._ Gracie had worked so hard and so long to remain independent; she wasn't about to give that up, even for love.

"How many more credits do you need for your degree?" she asked.

Gracie's brows drew together in slight confusion at the change in subject. "Fourteen or fifteen, I think."

Sara grinned at her. "Want a loan?"

The other woman's jaw dropped. Sara leaned back. "Whitney's a great school," she pointed out. "And if you apply for a transfer now you can probably start there this fall."

"But--" Gracie started, then stopped.

"I can afford it," Sara said, answering the unasked question. "C'mon, Grace, I never do anything but work, and I live at Ed's rent-free--all I do is split the utilities and buy groceries once in a while."

Gracie shook herself. "But what about you and Doctor G? The two of you are--"

"We're going back to Vegas," Sara interrupted. "He's already got a house there." She pointed a stern finger at Gracie. "Don't tell Ed--I haven't had a chance to."

"Gotcha." Gracie smiled with genuine pleasure. "I'm so glad you two have settled it, though."

Sara felt her cheeks heating, but shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah. So--Whitney?"

Gracie looked thoughtful. "I suppose I could find something small out there."

"Good. You think about it." Sara smiled, satisfied for the moment.

**xxxx**

Ed was in the kitchen when Sara got home, deep in making something complicated involving shrimp, but he looked up as soon as she entered. "How'd it go?"

She smiled on his anxious expression. "Pretty well, she's thinking about it. Don't push too hard and I think she'll go with you."

Ed heaved a huge sigh. "Thanks, sis." Rather to her surprise, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.

She patted his shoulder. "You're welcome. I like her, you know that--she's good for you."

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to help me pick out a ring before we leave."

Sara stared at him. "Didn't you hear what I said? I told you not to push!"

"I'm not going to ask her _here,_" Ed said with exaggerated patience. "But I want the feminine point of view, so to speak. And I _am_ going to ask her."

Sara went to the fridge and took out two beers, waving one at Ed; he nodded, and she set them both on the counter while she found the bottle opener. "I thought she said she wouldn't even consider that kind of thing until she graduated."

Ed shrugged, and took the bottle she handed him. "Things are different now. I love her, Sar. I want her to be part of this family, and I know better than to wait too long."

His face was set, and Sara knew that despite his easygoing ways, he could be just as stubborn as she when something was important enough. She cocked her head, conceding, and raised her beer to him. "Good luck."

He set down his after a swallow and gave her a pointed look. "And what about you? If you guys want this place, I could--"

Sara shook her head. "We're, ah, going back to Vegas."

Ed was silent a moment, slicing vegetables. "Is that what you want?" he asked at last.

"It's what he wants. What I want is to be with him. Toby's working on the transfer for me." She took another drink, waiting to see what Ed would say.

"You sure?" He stared down at the cutting board.

Sara leaned back against the island. "Yep. Ed, if you guys are leaving, then I've got nothing to keep me here. The FBI has never been about climbing the ranks to me, it's about doing the work and finding closure for people. I can do that just as easily in Vegas, and hang out with my old friends in the bargain."

Ed nodded slowly, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "It's closer to L.A., too," he pointed out.

"Yep." Sara left her bottle on the counter and gave him a brief hug from behind. "Though there are such things as planes, you know. I'm not going to abandon you guys."

"I know." Ed's hands were shrimpy, so he hugged her arms closer to him with his elbows. "I know."

A shrill jingle came from the living room, the sound of Ed's cellphone. Sara released her brother. "Want me to get it?"

"Please." Ed went on slicing.

Rather than answering the phone, Sara simply opened it and held it up to Ed's ear; he tucked it into the curve of his shoulder with a practiced motion. "Sidle."

She hadn't glanced at the display; Sara watched idly, sipping beer and wondering a little who it was. Ed was looking slightly puzzled.

"Yeah--she's--no? Okay." He listened for a few seconds, knife suspended in air. "Really? Seriously, man, I think you're asking the wrong person...No--okay, okay...how the hell should I know?" His glance towards Sara was bemused. "Well, of course not...Sure, okay...Yeah, that'll work, I think, let me get back to you...talk to you later."

As the conversation ceased, Sara stepped forward to take the phone back and shut it off. "Who was that?"

Ed was shaking his head. "Somebody who wants me for a consult." He glanced at her one more time, an odd look. "When are you guys leaving for Vegas?"

Sara shrugged, picking up her beer again. "We don't know yet. He'll probably go out there first, after he gets his mom settled; I have to wait for the transfer to go through."

"Fair enough." Ed swept his chopped vegetables into a pan. "Everything's happening at once, I guess."

"What's the matter?" Sara asked, sensing something in the way he held his shoulders.

He shrugged, then washed his hands at the sink before turning to pull her into an unexpected hug. "Stay in touch," he muttered into her hair. "I don't want to lose you again, sis."

Sara's heart ached at the love in his tone, and at the sense of _home_ in his arms. "Don't worry, Ed, you're never getting rid of me."

"Better not," he said, and squeezed her tighter.

**See Chapter 22**


	22. Chapter 22

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"You sure about this?" Ed looked doubtfully at the small shop. "It doesn't look...I mean..."

Sara took his arm and tugged firmly. "Ed, trust me. This is the place. You don't want to get her anything ordinary, do you?"

"Well, no." Ed let Sara tow him into the estate store. "But I was thinking of the big jeweler's at the other end of the mall."

"I know." Sara stopped three steps over the threshold, lowering her voice to match the hush and surveying the freestanding wood-and-glass cases. "But that's totally wrong for Gracie. You wanted my advice, Ed--this is it. At least look here before you go down there."

Ed shrugged. "Okay."

The shop had a few customers browsing in it, mostly elderly people in subtly expensive clothing, and the employees were all older than Sara as well. The siblings walked slowly in among the cases, looking down at vintage watches and antique necklaces before coming to a long row of rings. After a minute or so, an employee ghosted up on the other side of the counter, steps soundless on the thick carpet. "May I help you choose something today?"

Sara looked up. "He's shopping for an engagement ring," she said, jerking a thumb at her brother.

"I'm just looking, for starters," Ed added hastily. The salesman, tall and turbaned, nodded in understanding.

"Of course. All our rings are unique, certified; I'll be happy to bring out anything that catches your eye."

Ed bent further down to peer at the rings, making a vaguely assenting noise; Sara flashed a grin at the salesman. "Give us a few minutes?"

He smiled back, small and genuine. "Certainly. If you need anything just let me know."

He moved away as Sara looked down as well. As promised, the array of jewelry under the glass held no two alike; there were rings gemmed and ungemmed, wide and narrow, gold and silver, some obviously antique and some merely vintage. She dismissed a good two-thirds of them immediately as being either unsuitable as engagement rings or unsuitable for Gracie, but there were plenty of possibilities left.

"I dunno," Ed said in an unhappy voice. "There's so many of them."

"If you see one you like, think of Gracie's hands and whether it would look good on her," Sara suggested. "After all, you have to look at it too."

He snorted gently at her and went on perusing. Sara scanned the rows of sparkle, quickly coming up with a few possibilities but holding them in reserve until asked for. She had no idea what kind of ring Ed had gotten for Jenny--she'd never seen it up close--but knew that at the time he would not have been able to afford anything in this shop's price range.

Ed cocked his head, still staring down, and Sara could see his shoulders relaxing a little. She sat down on one of the small padded stools provided for customers and waited. A few minutes later, he nodded.

Before either of them could say anything, the salesman reappeared. "Do you see anything you like?" he inquired with another smile, teeth white against his beard.

Ed nodded again, decisively, and pointed to two of the velvet flats that held the rings. The salesman brought them both out and laid them on the top of the case.

Three of his choices were ones that Sara had spotted as well--two diamonds, one set in gold and one in platinum, and one of rosy gold with a diamond surrounded by a ring of tiny emeralds. The fourth was gold as well, with a huge amethyst, and Sara gave Ed a skeptical look when he picked it up to examine it.

His returned glance was somewhat sheepish. "I like the purple," he explained.

She shook her head. "It's pretty, but it's not an engagement ring," she said. "At least, not a conventional one."

"You think Gracie wants conventional?" Ed asked, turning the ring so the stone caught the light.

Sara pursed her lips. "Not entirely, but...it's your choice, Ed, but I don't think that would really suit her." She held out her own hand in demonstration. "She has very slender fingers. It's too heavy."

Ed looked skeptical, but handed the ring to the jeweler. "What about these?"

"All good," she answered at once. "I like that one too." She pointed at another gold with two smaller diamonds flanking a larger one.

"It's nice, but it's a bit worn," Ed pointed out judiciously; the edges of the stones were indeed rounded with time and wear.

"The stones could be recut," the salesman noted. "Or replaced, though that would detract from the charm of the piece."

"Nah." Ed picked up the platinum one. "I don't like it that much."

He examined each of the three rings one after the other, then turned to his sister. "They're pretty, but I want to look around a little more before I make a decision."

"Of course," the salesman repeated easily, and replaced the rings in their holders. "Would you like to place any of these on hold?"

Ed considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No thanks."

He led Sara out of the store and down the main corridor of the mall, his long stride exactly like her own. "So are you and Doctor G going to go shopping too?" he asked as they passed a shoe store.

Sara shot him a sharp look. "Nooo. We haven't even discussed getting married."

Ed frowned a little, a thoughtful look. "Do I need to yank him into a back alley and talk to him?"

The image made Sara hoot with sudden laughter. "Hell no. Seriously, Ed, it's not that much of an issue for me. I want to be _with _him. Marriage would be…nice, but it's not necessary."

"Mm," Ed said, and elbowed her lightly. "Heathen."

She nudged back. "Prude."

The potential rumpus was derailed by their arrival at the big jewelry store. It was as opulent as the estate shop, but much flashier, and a saleslady with perfect makeup pounced on Sara the second she crossed the threshold. "Welcome to Top Hat Jewelers! What can I help you find today?"

Sara eyed her sardonically. "Talk to him." She pointed at her brother, who looked less than enthusiastic.

Without missing a beat, the woman turned to Ed. "Who are you shopping for, sir?"

Ed sighed, his face softening a little as he looked down at her; she was pretty. "I'm looking at engagement rings."

The saleslady's eyes flicked back to Sara, who shook her head. "_Not _for me," she clarified.

The woman's smile became a little more genuine. "You're here to offer moral support?"

Ed rolled his eyes at Sara's snicker. "More like the feminine viewpoint."

The saleslady chuckled. "Well, come with me, and we'll see if we can't find something that you will both approve of."

The store had a good selection, Sara had to give it that, and the saleslady--Margot, by her nametag--toned down the high-pressure charm as Ed browsed, but everything in the cases was shiny-new and not very individual. _This stuff is more about status symbols and carat size,_ Sara realized as she glanced down into a case of solitaire pendants. There were a few genuinely creative pieces, but most of them weren't suitable as engagement rings either.

She picked up a set of ring sizers and tried them idly on her fingers as her brother examined five or six selections, all of them elegant enough to pass her own basic muster, though she really preferred a couple of the antique ones. _Give it a rest, Sidle, he's not shopping for you. _The platinum band and brightly cut stone he had in his hand at that moment, for instance, would grace--_heh_--Gracie's hand beautifully if he chose it.

Sara sighed a little, and put the ring sizers back down. Ed glanced sharply her way and then went back to his perusal, and she leaned against one of the cases and stared idly at a watch display. She'd answered Ed's question honestly, but now she realized that a small part of her did feel wistful at the idea of marriage.

_It's silly. I know I have Gil. Dressing up in frilly clothes to swap rings and vows won't change that, and God knows that getting married is no guarantee these days that a relationship will actually last. _

_But--_

She couldn't help it. It was too ingrained. Part of her psyche wanted the promises, the formality--the reassurance.

They hadn't discussed it, not at all, and Sara wasn't prepared to bring the subject up. _We've only just gotten together,_ she reasoned. _And I don't want him to think I'm needy or something--_

"Hey, Sar?" Ed's voice broke into her thoughts. "C'mere and tell me what you think."

Sara abandoned musing for tact and went to see what he had.

**xxxx**

Grissom had just finished buttoning his shirt when his cellphone rang. Striding back out into his living room, he scooped up the phone and noted the caller's number with pleasure as he opened it. "Hello, Sara."

"Hey." The flat tone of her voice made his incipient smile fade.

"What's the matter?" Grissom asked, leaning his hip against the table.

"I'm going to have to cancel dinner tonight," Sara said, sounding almost angry. "I'm sorry, Gil."

He frowned at nothing, suddenly concerned. "That's fine, but why?"

For a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer, but then she sighed. "Um. Cramps."

Grissom felt one brow go up. "Sara, you do know I want to see you regardless--"

"Yeah, I know." She laughed a little, but without much humor. "Believe me, I appreciate it. But at the moment I'm--"

Her voice broke off in a little gasp, and then resumed, sounding strained. "At the moment I'm curled up in bed praying that the painkillers kick in this time. If I try to walk anywhere I'll probably throw up; I'm definitely not safe to drive."

"Oh." Grissom suddenly felt himself to be awkwardly male and excluded. While he could discuss menses in the abstract with the cool detachment of the scientist, his personal experience with the function was sparse. "Will you be…okay?"

Sara laughed again, this time a little more genuinely. "It'll pass, it always does. But I'm basically useless for the next few hours."

"Huh. All right." Grissom bit back a sigh, disappointed at the loss of their evening, but also somewhat worried about Sara despite her reassurances. "Get some rest, then. We'll reschedule later."

"Right." She grunted. "Maybe we can meet for breakfast or something before your flight. I'm really sorry about this."

"No apologizing for biological functions," he said with asperity, to make her smile even if he couldn't see it. "I'll talk to you later."

Grissom closed the phone slowly, feeling disappointed. He was scheduled to leave for Nevada the next day, and to go from there to California for another ten days; the prospect of not seeing Sara at all before leaving was unpleasant in the extreme.

He was trying to figure out what to do with his evening when his eyes fell on his keyring, gleaming faintly on the little table by the door.

_Hmm. Think outside the box._

He considered for a moment, then sat down at his computer and did some quick research. Ten minutes later, he tucked in his shirt, grabbed wallet, jacket, and keys, and left. He had an errand to run.

**x**

Grissom hesitated a moment before putting his new key into the lock on the Sidles' front door, but finally went ahead. _Ed wouldn't have given it to me if he hadn't meant me to use it._

The sound of television and the spicy scent of tomato sauce filled the stairwell as Grissom closed the door behind him. Within seconds, a small tousled head was peering through the spindles at him. "It's Doctor G," Joseph reported, presumably to his sister.

Grissom waved, and began climbing the stairs. As his own head cleared the floor, he saw Kimmy fixing him with a suspicious gaze. "How'd you get in?" she demanded.

Grissom stepped onto the main floor. "Your father gave me a key," he said mildly, and her face cleared.

"Oh. I thought Joey left the door open again."

This earned a huff and an eye-roll from her brother, but he flopped back down on the carpet in front of the TV without additional protest. "What are you watching?" Grissom asked.

"_The Dark Crystal,_" Kimmy said absently, her attention already going back to the screen.

It looked interesting, but Grissom had other business. He glanced across the room; Ed's study door was closed, which meant he was in it and didn't want to be disturbed. "When your dad comes out, let him know I'm here, okay?" he asked casually, and Kimmy nodded without looking up.

Grissom shifted the bag he was carrying to the other hand, and climbed more stairs.

He knocked lightly on Sara's door before pushing it open. She was lying on her bed in a fetal position, wearing a blouse and a slip but no skirt, and he could tell by the tension in her shoulders that she was not asleep.

As he stepped into the room she lifted her head, blinking blearily, and her face was drawn with pain. "Gil? What are you doing here?"

"Are your painkillers working yet?" he asked softly, ignoring her question and rummaging in the bag as he walked to her bed. Sara grimaced.

"Not really, I took 'em too late." She winced. "Usually I can tell when this is going to happen, but it snuck up on me this time."

Her voice still sounded strained, and he didn't like it. Grissom took a box from his bag and opened it, then bent to plug the heating pad's cord into the nearest outlet, thumbing the controls to the second-highest setting. "Here."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, behind Sara's back, and leaned over to settle the pad against her abdomen, just below the arms she had folded against her chest. "What?" she asked, looking down. "Oh--"

"Heat helps relax muscles, you know that," Grissom noted, satisfied when she didn't push it away. "You should have one of these."

Sara shrugged a little. "I never think of it except when this happens, and it's only a few times a year."

She made the same small grunting sound he'd heard over the phone, and it was his turn to wince. Her skin was pale and damp, and her mouth tight; she was clearly in a great deal of pain. _How women put up with this kind of thing is beyond my understanding. _

Cautiously, Grissom shifted his position and laid a hand on the small of Sara's back, rubbing lightly at the taut muscles. She made a small gasping noise, but didn't protest, so he leaned in at a slightly awkward angle and started rubbing with both hands.

Sara said nothing, only whimpering slightly when his thumbs dug into the dents along her spine, but Grissom figured that if she wanted him to stop she would speak up. Gradually the knots loosened, as did her hunched curl; eventually, Sara sighed and slowly relaxed, reaching back to halt the hand still stroking her back. "Thanks," she said thickly.

Grissom just brushed her tangled hair off her forehead, then pulled himself onto the bed entirely and sat back against the headboard. Sara rolled halfway over and put her head in his lap, her movements slow and languid. Her eyes were sleepy, but Grissom could see color returning to her face. "Better?" he asked quietly.

She sighed again, and smiled. "Much. The endorphins are kicking in." She fumbled with the heating pad for a moment, shutting it off and pushing it aside. "How'd you know to do all that? Ex-girlfriend?"

Grissom shook his head, and stroked her hair again. "Research. The Internet is a wonderful thing."

Sara snickered weakly. Tentatively Grissom reached down and placed a hand on her abdomen. The skin was shockingly hot where her blouse had ridden up, thanks to the heating pad, but he didn't think she'd actually burned herself.

Recalling more of his research, Grissom started rubbing again, with the lightest pressure he could manage. Sara grunted and tensed, but then relaxed again under his touch. "Ohhhh."

When he stopped, she was as limp as a noodle, and--he judged--almost three-quarters asleep. Grissom settled his shoulders more comfortably, and began stroking her hair once more.

"Have to do that for you sometime," Sara said in a slurred voice, and Grissom smiled and forbore to point out that he lacked the necessary organ--he knew what she meant.

"The heart does not a tally keep," he murmured instead, and listened to her breathing slow into sleep.

**xxxx**

On impulse, Sara listened to the message again. It was nothing special, but still she smiled as Grissom's voice spoke in her ear. "_I landed safely, and I'm going straight to the lab to see if I can catch the director. You know how to reach me._" A pause, and then the shy admission. "_I miss you already._"

Sara sighed, and closed her phone. "I miss you too," she muttered to herself, still a little pissed at having missed the call. _But I can call him back later._

Setting down the cell, she put her hands on her hips and stared around the big room. It was hers, certainly, but not for much longer.

_Time to do something about this. _Quickly she shed her work clothes and hung them up, dressing in a soft pair of worn jeans and her favorite Niels Bohr t-shirt. A good third of her stuff was still in boxes in Ed's basement, along with old toys and Jenny's clothes, but there was plenty that could be packed now.

She trotted down three flights of stairs for the empty boxes she knew were stored in the laundry room, and breezed back upstairs, collecting a roll of packing tape and her niece's puzzled stare in passing.

As she expected, she had barely filled half a box with books when Kimmy poked her head around the door. "Aunt Sara?"

Sara looked up and waved a textbook at her. "C'mon in."

Kimmy did so, slipping past the empty boxes to perch on Sara's bed. "What are you doing?"

Sara eschewed the obvious answer and replied to the real question. "I'm getting ready to move."

Kimmy was silent a moment. "Back to Las Vegas?"

"Yep." Sara closed the flaps of the box and ripped off a strip of tape. "Can you hand me the black marker from my desk?"

The girl rose to collect the pen and handed it to her aunt before settling back down. "Are you going soon?"

Sara scribbled "BOOKS" on the box, capped the pen, and shook her head. "Not for at least a month, kiddo. I'm just getting an early start on things."

Kimmy nodded and pulled her legs up so she could rest her arms on her knees. "Dad says we're moving to Los Angeles this summer."

Sara smiled up at her. "Yeah. You're going to love it--lots of sun and surf, and cute boys."

Kimmy's mouth curved a little before she sobered again and watched Sara wrap more tape around the box. "But what about snow?"

Sara gave her a sympathetic glance. "Not a lot of snow in L.A., no, but I bet your dad will take you skiing if you ask him--he's always loved doing that. And sailing."

"And horses?"

Sara grinned. "Lots of horseback trails outside the city. No problem there."

Kimmy nodded, and as Sara carried the box to an empty spot along one wall, arranged an empty one in its place.

"I don't think I want to go."

Sara regarded the drooping girl, and sat down on the bed, holding out an arm for a cuddle. Kimmy nestled against Sara, letting her hair fall over her face. "It's hard, leaving everything familiar," Sara agreed. "But you'll find lots of new things, and make new friends. And you can e-mail your old ones here."

Kimmy pushed her head into Sara's side. "You won't be there," she said with a hint of resentment. "You'll be with him."

Sara squeezed her gently. "That's true. But I'll be a lot closer than if I stayed here. You can come to visit me, and I know I'll be visiting you." She stroked the thin arm under her hand, realizing how much she was going to miss her family, and swallowed. "I was never going to stay forever, kiddo."

Kimmy didn't answer, and they sat still for a while, just being together. "Will I have to call him Uncle Gil?" Kimmy asked at last.

Sara snickered. "Only if you want to. 'Doctor G' will do just fine, he's used to that." She wondered abruptly what she was going to say if Kimmy asked when they were going to get married; Sara wasn't ashamed of her choices, but explaining them to someone not yet twelve was something she wasn't sure she was up to at the moment. _Particularly when it's not my kid._

But Kimmy sighed, and straightened, giving Sara a slightly watery smile. "Can I help?"

"Did you finish your homework?" Sara countered with a grin.

Kimmy rolled her eyes. "All except the vocabulary stuff, and I always do that when I eat breakfast."

"Then sure." Sara squeezed her one more time, because she still could. "I'd love it."

**See Chapter 23**


	23. Chapter 23

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The lab was intensely familiar when Grissom stepped through the doors, in the way that known places become after a long absence. The very smell of the corridors, chemicals and floor polish, held a new sharpness, and Grissom realized that he'd missed work.

Well, he'd expected to, but the proximity of Sara and the terror and delight of courting her had quickly distracted and occupied him. Living in Virginia, away from all his ordinary habits and routines, had forced him to create new ones, and he had to admit that he'd enjoyed the ones he'd formed--both the challenge of working for the museum and as a freelancer, and the time spent with Sara, either with her alone or with her family.

It had been fun, and challenging, and delightful as he and Sara rebuilt their friendship and she warmed to his advances. And if she had chosen to stay in Virginia, Grissom thought as he made his way to the director's office, he would have been happy to continue as he was, or to find a more permanent position.

_But since she wants to come back here--_

He was smiling, and he didn't care. It felt like all his dreams were coming true at once.

A tall dark figure met him at the director's door, a shy grin widening over Abdul's face as the younger man held out a hand. "Grissom, it's good to see you back."

Grissom shook his second-in-command's hand firmly. "It's only a flying visit," he noted. "I'm on my way to California."

"Nonetheless." Abdul gestured towards the door. "After you."

Grissom preceded him, and found both the lab's director, a bluff and no-nonsense scientist with the improbable name of Dr. Isabeau Kamura, and the current Sheriff, one Reginald Smithson, waiting for them.

"Sheriff, Isabeau," Grissom greeted them, being much more at ease with Kamura than he had been with the two previous directors. Smithson nodded to Grissom and Abdul, but Kamura leaned back in her chair.

"All right, Gil, you're here. Explain."

Grissom smiled politely, sat down in the chair she pointed him at, and did.

Forty-five minutes later, he and Abdul emerged from the office, Grissom smug and Abdul rather dazed. "Supervisor--are you sure?" Abdul said, tugging at his ponytail of black hair, which Grissom knew was a sure sign of distraction.

"I wouldn't have proposed it if I weren't. Let's go to the office and we can discuss the details." Grissom nudged his CSI towards the generous space that was his own primarily, but which Rahman was using while Grissom was away.

Abdul hadn't made many changes, Grissom noted as he pushed open the door and turned on the light; there was an additional desk lamp, and a philodendron on the corner of the desktop, but that was all, aside from the unnatural tidiness of the desktop itself. He moved for the two chairs in the corner, guessing that Abdul would be more comfortable than if one of them were on the other side of the desk.

The CSI sat down abruptly, as though his knees had given out, and Grissom couldn't help smirking a little as he sat opposite. "This is more warning than I ever got," he pointed out. "And you can refuse the offer, if you really don't want it."

Abdul's eyes flashed. "Of course I want it. I just--you--"

Grissom shrugged, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. "You've been doing very well as the temporary supervisor of night shift," he said. "You're ready for a permanent position, and I hate to take it away from you; the only other opportunities are elsewhere, given that neither of the other shift supervisors are ready to leave."

"But are you ready to just--stop like that?" Abdul folded his hands, looking at Grissom with a concerned expression.

"I'm not _stopping._ I'm just reorienting my focus. I'll be working part-time, and I'll step in to handle difficult cases and anything involving insects or other areas of my expertise. I just won't be supervising any more."

Abdul shook his head. "It's hard to imagine the lab without you in charge of nights. I mean, sure you were gone, but we always knew you'd be _back._"

_Then you had more faith than I did,_ Grissom thought, but didn't say it aloud. "I have other things I want to accomplish," he admitted. "UNLV has contacted me about creating a post-doctorate program in forensic sciences, and while I'm not sure I want to get involved, I'm ready to make some changes in my life. The supervisor's position just takes up too much time."

He cocked a brow at his CSI. "That is something you should bear in mind. Your workload will double, sometimes triple, and there's the political aspect to consider--which is never something I managed to master."

Abdul nodded, relaxing somewhat. "I've already noticed the workload increase," he admitted ruefully. "But if you really think I'm ready--"

Grissom took off his glasses to see Abdul more clearly. "I do. You've proven that over the last six months, and you'll get two more before any decisions are final, so you still have time to change your mind."

They discussed the switch for a while, working through potential ramifications, good and bad. It was clear that Rahman wanted the position very much, and with every word Grissom felt lighter. _I'll have time--time to work, time for Sara. _

He'd never wanted to be supervisor, but once saddled with the position he'd kept it, mostly to make sure his shift got the supplies and equipment he needed, and to keep away interference as much as possible. _And--admit it--to keep someone else from getting the spot and making you do things you didn't want to do._ But he could hand over the reins to Abdul happily, secure in the knowledge that his team would be well cared for and that he himself would not have to answer to anyone but Kamura.

_I never meant to stay a supervisor forever anyway._

Finally Abdul stood up to leave. "I need to get ready for tonight," he said apologetically. "If I can just grab a few files--"

Grissom stood up as well. "It's your office more than it is mine at this point," he countered. "I'll leave you to it and see if I can find the others before your shift starts. If not, tell them I'll see them in two months."

"Absolutely." They shook hands again, and Abdul smiled shyly. "Thank you, Grissom."

"You earned it," Grissom told him, and took his leave.

Before he'd even closed the office door all the way, however, his name was ringing down the corridor at a pitch that made him both wince and smile. "_Grissom!_"

He turned, and held out his arms, because to not do so would be to have them pinned to his torso in a move both uncomfortable and undignified. "Hey, Catherine."

She gave him a fierce hug. "Damn, Gil, you look great! I almost didn't recognize you, except who else has legs like yours."

He snorted, and released her. "It's nice to see you too. What are you doing here so late?"

"Paperwork, what else?" She started towing him towards her office. "Come in and sit down for a minute. I need to hear about what you've been up to."

Grissom resisted the pull. "I wanted to catch Greg and the others before shift starts."

Catherine didn't let up. "I know for a fact that they're about to get called out to a triple murder downtown, because I told Brass straight up that I wasn't pulling a double for that one. Get in here."

Grissom gave in, deciding that it was the better part of valor, and let her lead him into her office. It was smaller than his, but then Catherine didn't keep shelves full of forensic oddities either; she shoved him gently towards a chair, and perched on the corner of her desk. "So what the _hell_ have you been up to, Gil? We all thought you were burning out, and then you disappear for six months, and come back looking like…"

She gave him a sharp look. "Like you got laid, now that I think about it."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Catherine, please."

She waved a hand. "Okay, okay. But seriously, what have you been doing?"

"I told you, taking some time off." Grissom regarded her with amusement. "Consulting, reading…generally making a change. I needed a different environment."

"Yeah, you did," Catherine said with characteristic frankness. "But I'm glad you took it, Gil, because you look a hell of a lot better now."

"I feel better," he agreed, with no intention of telling her just why. He didn't know how Sara felt about revealing their relationship to their friends, and so he would say nothing for the moment. _Besides…it still feels private. _

"So are you coming back now?" Catherine asked. "Got all your kinks worked out?"

"Not yet--I'm extending my leave by two months. I have some…family issues to deal with."

His friend's curiosity softened towards sympathy. "Your mom?"

She and Doc Robbins were the only two of his colleagues who had met his mother. "Yeah. She has to move into more assisted care."

"Well, that sucks." Catherine gave him a commiserating grimace, and Grissom reflected that this was one of her aspects that he appreciated--she didn't try to comfort him or find the bright spot, she just acknowledged that things were not good. Her raised eyebrows told him she wanted more information if he were willing, so he decided to be obliging.

"She has Alzheimer's. Early stages."

Catherine winced, and Grissom shrugged, not wanting to add details. She nodded, resting her hands on her thighs. "But you are coming back."

Half a question, and he answered it. "Yeah. I'm not going to be heading the shift any more, but I'll be back."

He expected a protest, but Catherine nodded again, this time in approval. "Good. Rahman's a great supervisor, the night shift team loves him. If you didn't make his position permanent, the lab would lose him to the first headhunter to come along." She reached out with one foot and nudged his knee. "Not to mention, it'll be nice to see your face around here again, Bugman."

Grissom arched a brow and pretended annoyance. "Why do you care if the night shift keeps its supervisor?"

She snorted. "Have you actually _looked_ at the man, Gil? I mean, I know you're a guy, but still. He looks just like that guy from _The Mummy Returns, _and the voice…!"

Grissom snickered. "So in essence, he's eye candy?"

"Says the man who told me he missed my backside." Catherine folded her arms in mock indignation. "He's also a good CSI, Gil, and he keeps his people happy. If we had to lose you, he was the best substitute."

"Fair enough." Grissom was actually quite pleased with her assessment of Rahman's abilities; it matched his own, and fit with what Greg had told him over the phone. _I always meant Warrick to have the position, but he's moved on to other things. Abdul will do well._

He glanced at his watch. "Well, by now I've missed the night shift, and your boys are long gone. Want to grab some dinner?"

Catherine hopped off the desk. "I have to get home to Lindsey. You're welcome to come with, though, I'm sure we can find something to feed you."

Grissom considered the offer. He was tired, but not overly so, and his flight to Los Angeles wasn't until early evening the next day. "That sounds good."

"C'mon then." Catherine went around the desk and pulled her shoulder bag from a drawer. "You can tell me what you've been up to."

Grissom stood, and held the door for her. "Even if it involves insects?" he teased, and she laughed as they went out.

**xxxx**

She missed him.

Sara tried to ignore the empty feeling, but there was no getting around the space in her middle. She busied herself with work, and the kids, and in helping Ed begin the sorting of his dead wife's possessions, but always underneath was a new current of loneliness.

_It's only ten days,_ she reminded herself. _Only another week._ And, _You were apart for three years, and right after Christmas, so what's your problem? _

But she knew exactly what it was. For three years she'd done her best to put Grissom out of her mind; after Christmas, everything was still so new. Now...now they'd passed their first trial of fire, and could believe a little harder in themselves. They were beyond the first tentative step, and were really starting to plan for the future.

Not to mention, now she knew what it was like to spend a night with him curled up around her, both of them worn out with loving one another--

She sighed, and glanced over at her silent phone, before rolling onto her stomach on her bed and stuffing a pillow under her chin. Her big room was beginning to echo, now that half of its contents were in boxes, but at the moment Sara just didn't feel like doing anything more. Except talk to Grissom.

He called every night, and she could tell just by the sound of his voice that he missed her too. The second night he'd been gone he'd called from Los Angeles, sounding animated and pleased by how things had gone in Las Vegas, and she'd smiled at the ceiling while she'd listened, delighted by his pleasure.

But as the week had worn on, he'd become less and less cheerful, his voice going quiet and gravelly with stress. Sara made him tell her about the near-endless runaround from location to location, struggling to get Rosalie's place in a new facility secured, to set up more controls over her finances--the gentle, painful lessening of her control over her own life, because it was no longer safe for her to have that control. Grissom didn't give Sara a lot of detail, but it was clear that it was soul-wounding work.

_This is dumb._ Sara shoved herself upright and got off the bed. _I have plenty of stuff I can do while I wait._

She turned on her radio--keeping it low, the kids were in bed--and started sorting through old papers. She was halfway tempted to drop it all in a box and deal with it later, but decided it was worth culling it to keep from having to ship it. After a while, old letters absorbed her, and the sudden chime of her phone made her jump.

Sara shoved the papers from her lap and lunged across her desk to scoop up the phone. "Hello, Gil."

She could all but hear his eyebrow going up, three thousand miles away, at her breathless tone. "Did I interrupt something?"

Sara grinned, and settled back onto her bed. "Nah, I just had to dive for the phone. How was your day?"

Grissom let out something between a sigh and a chuckle. "Long. I've dealt with three separate bureaucracies today, none of them particularly cooperative."

"The bank?" Sara asked with sympathy; his mother's financial institution was making him jump through any number of hoops.

"No, actually--I finally got all the documentation they required, and they're being very helpful now." A faint shushing noise reached her ears, and she could see him in her mind's eye, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "It's the new facility, and…never mind. You've heard it before."

Sara sighed. "I wish I were there--at least I could give you a neck rub." She knew without seeing them that the muscles of his neck and shoulders were knotted tightly.

Grissom made a small, wistful sound. "I wish you were too."

"How's Rosalie?" Sara asked; a nightly question, but one she meant every time.

"Tired," Grissom replied. "She's going along with what I'm doing, but she doesn't like it, and that makes it hard for us to talk."

Sara's heart hurt for Grissom, for the weariness in his tone. She wanted to put her arms around him and just hold him for a while, to feel his hug and his breath on her cheek. "Have I told you recently how much I admire you?"

She knew he was smiling. "Several times. Sara, I'm just doing what's right."

"That may be true, but not everyone does do the right thing," she pointed out firmly. "You know that."

"Well, there have been many times in my life when I haven't. How was your day?" he asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Sara let him. "Pretty good. We wrapped up two cases and started another, nothing unusual."

They chatted for a little while about what they'd done during daylight hours, saying nothing really important, but Sara knew the importance lay in the sharing. Grissom was doing his very best to be open to her, and she treasured the effort as much as the results.

Eventually he sighed. "I should let you go; you have work tomorrow."

Sara eyed the clock. It was getting late, but-- "Gil, this is me, remember? I never sleep."

He chuckled. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't. And besides, I don't want to be responsible for you falling asleep in the middle of evidence tomorrow."

She snorted, grinning. "As if. Just keep in mind you'll be home in five days." _Wait--_ "Sorry, I mean, back."

Sara bit her lip, dismayed at her phrasing. Home for Grissom was Vegas. _I don't want him to think I don't want to go back to Nevada--_

"Sara." His voice was soothing, warm, just the sound of it made her spine relax. "Home is where you are. I'll be home in five days."

That did it. Sara lay back, feeling her insides melt, and swallowed hard. "I miss you too."

**xxxx**

Grissom opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up, grateful that Susan had taken Rosalie out for the day. Grissom loved his mother dearly, but he was used to spending a lot of time alone, and being almost constantly around his relations was beginning to wear on him.

_Three days. Just three more days, and you'll be back with Sara._ As it was, he was going to have to push to get everything done that he needed to do. There was no reason why he couldn't extend his time in California, he had nothing on his schedule back in Virginia.

Except he missed her.

Grissom sighed, and connected his laptop to the Internet. Checking his e-mail made a welcome break from the myriad tasks of getting his mother ready to move. He glanced around the apartment, quailing at the thought of just packing up all the paintings, knickknacks, and books, let alone all Rosalie's other possessions.

_But Jack will probably handle most of it, if I ask him. _His uncle was a stolid, silent man, who had had a long career at a major insurance company before retiring. He spent most of his time on carpentry these days, but Grissom knew the man loved a big project. _It would be right up his alley, and Mom trusts him. _

Grissom set the problem aside for the moment and scanned the list of messages. Newsletters from various societies and institutions, two electronic journal notifications, a note from Nick about insect collection, a long letter from Sara and a short one from Joey, and one more message from Ed.

He shunted the business stuff into a "read later" folder, answered Nick's question, read Joseph's letter with a smile and replied with a spectacular image of a giant water bug, and savored Sara's missive, which was a collection of funny stories about her coworkers. _She must have been bored today. _

It ended with a tender phrase that made him bite his lip in longing, and he set the letter aside; to answer properly when he'd read it over again.

The note from Ed was short and written in the scientist's unmistakable style. _Hey Doc, _it read, _I still think you're asking the wrong person, but I kept an eye on her, and caught a couple of things. For one thing, she wears a six. Second, she likes pretty funky-looking stuff--unique, you know? She was drooling over a couple of vintage pieces, though I don't think it necessarily has to **be** vintage. Just not something you'd find at every corner jeweler's. _

_Sorry, I know that's not a lot of help, but it's the best I can do. See you next week-- _

Grissom shook his head. "It's more help than you think," he said, addressing the screen absently.

He glanced at the computer's clock, then shut the machine down. It was only late afternoon.

_Enough time to run an errand...or two. _

Marina del Rey, being a tourist area, had a wide range of shopping options available. Grissom, not quite sure what he was looking for, headed for the boardwalk and strolled along it, passing shop after shop and waiting for something to catch his eye. Twice he ducked into places that looked promising, but both times they disappointed him; the stock was too flashy, or too modern, or not unusual enough.

The sun set in a blaze of clear light over the sea, and the lights over the boardwalk came on, making sharp shadows and turning each shop into a neon-lit fantasy or a glowing cave of treasure. Grissom neared the end of the boardwalk, feeling tired and hungry, and decided that the end of the strip of retailers would be the end of his quest for the day. _The stores will be closing soon anyway. _

But the third-to-last one drew his attention. Its window display was much like some of the other stores', using sand and shells to display small wares, but the mermaid statue in one corner was unique. The sea-woman sat on her own coiled tail and gave him a smile that reminded him of Catherine, lazy femininity assured of its own power. On impulse, Grissom pulled the door open.

For a moment, despite the necklaces in the window, Grissom thought he'd come to a dead end again; the shop was filled with all kinds of items, including clothing and artwork, and there were even a few fantastical kites hanging from the ceiling. But then he saw that the counters were also display cases, and he brushed past a rack of scarves and a huge basket filled with glass globes.

The man behind the counter looked up from a copy of _The Sparrow_ as Grissom approached. He didn't fit the shop at all; he was big, with a notable gut, and he wore a tidy goatee and the vest to a suit over his dress shirt. An intricate tattoo of a decapod adorned the back of one hand, and watery blue eyes behind small lenses looked at Grissom sharply. "May I help you?" he asked, his voice smooth and cultured.

Unintimidated, Grissom looked back. "I'm just browsing for the moment, thank you."

Rather than offering assistance, the man nodded politely and returned to his book. Grissom bent over the cases.

Rows of bracelets, of necklaces, of rings sparkled under the glass. Grissom's brows went up as he looked; these were definitely unique. Some were chunky, abstract pieces with huge stones set in them, while others were impossibly delicate, as though made by fingers smaller and more clever than any human's.

One cluster of rings, obviously all by the same artist, drew Grissom's eye. They were fluid and asymmetrical, rich gold wrapping around pearls and diamonds and more vivid gems in a fashion that looked almost organic. No two were alike.

Grissom straightened, and pointed. "I'd like to see these, please."

Without speaking, the big man put down his book again and unlocked the back of the case to lift the tray out. Grissom examined many of the rings, trying to imagine them on Sara's strong hand, trying to tell if any of them would please her. The prices on most of them were more than he had paid for her amber bracelet, but that didn't concern him; if he found the right ring, price was immaterial.

Eventually he was able to narrow his choices down to four. One was obviously far too small; Grissom set it aside.

"We can resize some pieces if you like," the man said. "It usually takes a week to ten days."

Grissom glanced up. "I'll keep that in mind, then, thank you." The rings all pleased him, but he felt a certain dismay at the thought of buying one and not taking it with him. He had no specific timetable, but having the ring to hand would be...reassuring.

Of the remaining three, one he discarded for no other reason than some instinct that said Sara wouldn't like it as much as she might one of the others. The last two were harder; one held a row of three pearls in a sort of long golden shell, with two tiny emeralds nestling at the ends, while the other was a tangle of gold that held another diamond and three small rubies. Both were elegant and unusual, and he could picture either of them on Sara's ring finger.

Shifting his jaw as he tried to decide, Grissom mentally added a wedding ring as well, and his choice was suddenly clear. The emerald ring would not accommodate another ring on the same finger; the shell was too wide.

"This one." Grissom held the ruby one out on his palm, hoping that the size was correct. The big man picked it up and sized it gravely; it was, much to Grissom's relief, exactly a six.

The salesman inserted it carefully into a ring box and rang up the sale. Grissom wrapped his fist around the small container, wondering with ironic amusement how he'd gotten to this place. _Eight months ago I was living life with no hope, nothing at all to look forward to. Now I'm planning to ask Sara to marry me. _

Grissom had to admit he had no idea if she would actually say yes. He had her heart, and he was finally learning to trust that, but he didn't know if Sara's worldview or plans included the bonds of matrimony.

But he had to ask. _I want her in my life for the rest of my life. I want her for always. I want her promise that she'll stay forever, and I want to promise her the same thing. _

Grissom signed the form, took his receipt, and walked back out into the chilly air, determination and hope in his pocket.

**See Chapter 24**


	24. Chapter 24

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**The story Sara remembers does exist--it is the haunting The Wind Between the Stars by Margaret Mahy, currently in print in one of her short story collections but also out of print in an edition illustrated by Brian Froud. I've never seen the latter--it's quite rare--but I still want it. The combination must be astounding. **

**If you were a reader of _Cricket_ in its early years, you may also remember the story. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom trudged wearily out of the elevator. It was almost two in the morning, and while he was still on West Coast time, he was nonetheless exhausted, and glad to be back at his apartment.

He propped his suitcase up next to his door and fumbled for his keys, barely able to keep his eyes open. He'd almost decided to leave his car at the airport one more day and take a cab home, but instead had bought a cup of coffee at a 7-Eleven on the way home--not that it had had much effect.

_Next time they ask for volunteers to get bumped to the next flight--don't. You're too old for this._

Grissom shoved the door open and dragged his suitcase through, leaving it in the small entrance hall as he stripped off his jacket and stepped out of his shoes. His apartment was dark and silent, though thanks to the cleaning service it didn't smell musty; he didn't bother with lights, just moving through the living room towards his bedroom, wishing it was still early enough to call Sara. For that, he would stay awake.

_Not at this hour, though. She should be sound asleep. Besides, you talked to her earlier._ They'd had no plans for the evening, but he'd called to tell her he was taking a later flight anyway. It was odd, feeling that he had to update someone on his plans and whereabouts, but a good sort of odd. _It's Sara. That's what matters._

He had his shirt unbuttoned by the time he got to the bedroom, but there was an extra scent in the air when he walked into the room, and with surprise muted by exhaustion he realized that Sara had made use of the spare key he'd given her.

He stripped off his shirt and pants, peeled out of his socks, and without ceremony lay down on the bed, pulling back the covers just enough so that he could slide in next to the softly breathing form. Before he could touch her, Sara rolled over, putting an arm around his ribs and letting her head rest against his shoulder. "You okay?" she muttered without opening her eyes.

"Yeah." Grissom sighed with quiet contentment, letting all the stress of travel go with the rush of air, and gathered her into his own arms, bringing their legs together in a warm tangle. She was wearing a shirt but her legs were bare, and Grissom shivered at the sensation.

"Good. Glad you're back." Sara pressed her face into his chest, and Grissom let his eyes close at last.

_Home._

**xxxx**

Sara woke warm. The feeling of a hand burrowed beneath her and a heavy head resting on her shoulder were rapidly becoming familiar, and she kept her eyes shut for the moment and simply savored the sensation. _Y'know, it's weird when you think about it, that we both like to cuddle--but hey, I'm not arguing. _

The only people she'd ever comfortably shared a bed with, even including her few previous lovers, had been her nephew and niece; when she'd first arrived in Virginia, the nightmares had been a lot more frequent, and many nights it had been easier to let one or the other of them curl up next to her. The small heavy sleepers had evoked only a desire to protect. She'd always felt trapped with another adult in the bed, as though there wasn't enough space on the mattress for both of them.

But not with Grissom. _Hell, all I want to do is get closer._

And the same seemed to be true for him. Sara didn't know anything about his past love life, aside from the fact that his last lover was years in the past, and she didn't particularly care to know more. But she'd deduced, from the moment when Grissom began touching her on a regular basis, that he was tactilely sensitive.

He loved to touch her, that was obvious. And the contact seemed to feed a craving in him. _And you know you love it. _

Sara opened her eyes, blinking a little at the morning light, and glancing over at the clock. _Damn. _

She had just over an hour before she had to be at work, and Grissom was still sound asleep. She wasn't sure what time he'd finally gotten home, but she knew it had been pretty late. _Oh well. To be continued._

It took her a little bit of effort to wriggle out from under Grissom without waking him, but eventually she was free, and he snuffled and sighed and fell deeper asleep. Sara stood up and stretched, then had to bend over and kiss his temple--he was just too cute to resist.

Sighing, she pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and went to take a hasty shower.

It was midmorning before her phone rang. She was in one of the layout rooms, looking over a pile of trash, and she snapped off her glove before picking up her cellphone. "Sidle."

A second of silence, and then Grissom's voice, amused and still a little sleepy. "Good morning. You're not alone?"

Sara glanced over at the other agent sorting through the garbage. "Not at the moment, no." She waved to him and pointed at the door, and he nodded. "Hold on a sec."

She pushed through the door and out into the hallway, which was currently empty. "There. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine. I missed you when I woke up," Grissom said softly. "But I was very glad to find you here last night."

Sara couldn't help smiling. "Well, I missed you. That seemed the best way to see you as quickly as possible."

He chuckled. "I appreciate it, believe me. Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?"

"How about you come over to our place instead?" Sara countered. "The kids have been asking about you."

Grissom hesitated just a fraction, but his response was genuinely warm. "I'd like that. What time?"

"Sixish. Ed says that if you come over he'll make spaghetti."

"I'll definitely be there, then," Grissom said with amusement. "Ed's spaghetti sauce, if properly applied, could bring about world peace."

"Yeah, but then we'd all reek of garlic," Sara pointed out, pleased that Grissom sounded more relaxed than during the past week.

"There are worse fates." He let out a little sigh. "I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Definitely," Sara assured him.

They said goodbye and hung up, Sara smiling as she closed the phone. She knew why he had hesitated before agreeing to dinner at her brother's house, and she sympathized. _It's been ten days, after all._

But she was nothing if not proactive.

Toby Washington's office was two floors away; Sara simply opened her phone again. "Toby, hey. Listen, we're checking the trash now but you know as well as I do that we're probably going to come up empty. Mind if I take off a little early?"

**xxxx**

Grissom wiped condensation from the mirror and looked at his reflection, a quick glimpse before the glass steamed up again. His hair was wet from his shower, and he'd scrubbed off the faint traces of lipgloss, but he still looked thoroughly...pounced, he decided.

The grin was inevitable. _Well, I can't remember the last time I was pounced._

Sara's call to tell him she was on her way over had been a delightful surprise, and while he hadn't wanted to assume anything, he had hoped. And his hopes had been greatly fulfilled when he'd opened his door to her knock.

Her kiss had been intense and deep and very, very serious, and Grissom had barely managed to kick the door shut. When she finally let them get some air, he had grinned at her. "Sara Sidle, you blew off work for me?"

Her answering grin had been blinding. "Shut up."

And that was pretty much the last thing either of them had said for a while, at least intelligibly. Sara had backed him into his bedroom and had her way with him, and he hadn't protested at all.

Now Grissom gave his rapidly fogging image a smug look and reached for the comb. Just as he finished running it through his hair, the shower shut off and the frosted glass door swung open. "Could you hand me a towel, please?" Sara asked.

Grissom turned to admire. "I'm not sure I want to obscure any of your beauty," he teased.

Sara ran her hands over her dripping hair and gave him a harmless glare, and he conceded and fetched her a towel from the rack, taking the opportunity to dry her himself. "It's almost five."

"Won't take me long to get ready," Sara answered, slipping the towel higher to squeeze water out of her hair. "Do you want to drive or should I?"

The weather was stormy, with sudden winds and spurts of rain, but the townhouse smelled delicious the minute they stepped inside, the tang of tomato sauce deepened by spices and garlic and underlain by something sweeter. As Grissom followed Sara up the stairs to the main floor, Joey jumped up from his spread of Matchbox cars on the living room floor, and startled Grissom by giving him an enthusiastic hug.

Grissom returned it automatically, looking down at the small dark head in surprise. "I _missed_ you," Joey said against Grissom's abdomen, then looked up. "Did you bring us stuff?"

Grissom felt a laugh escape him as Sara's expression went from tenderness to amused outrage. "_Joseph!_ That's rude!"

Kimmy, reading on the couch, rolled her eyes, and Joey let Grissom go to face his aunt. "But I want to know!"

Sara put her hands on her hips. "That may be true, but it's not a polite question."

Grissom felt a still-unfamiliar warmth behind his breastbone. Joseph was a straightforward child; he had meant the statement as much as the question. Grissom glanced over at Sara and raised a brow in question, but she shook her head, and he didn't mention the goodies he had tucked away in his jacket pockets.

Joey huffed, but at Sara's stern glare he turned back. "I'm sorry for being rude," he recited dutifully.

"Thank you," Grissom replied, keeping his face straight. The ritual completed, Joey took his hand and dragged him over to the couch, so Grissom could sit and hear all about soccer practice and school. As Joseph ran down a little, Grissom asked Kimmy about her week as well, and she related her first horseback riding lesson with pride.

At some point he looked up for Sara, finding her leaning against one of the bookcases with her arms crossed and a soft smile on her face. For a second his memory rose up and superimposed her expression from earlier in the day--eyes bright with mischief, cheeks flushed with passion and anticipation--but then he tucked the image away, to dwell on later, still so grateful that he had it at all.

Dinner was delicious, as Grissom had expected, and while the first half of dinner was taken up by the children's questions about moving and California, the kids eventually left the table while the adults lingered over second helpings and debated research ethics. About half an hour later Joseph returned, leaning against Sara until she pulled him onto her lap, and he sat quietly for almost ten minutes before sliding off and returning to his play. Grissom watched, noting the easy way Sara held her nephew, offering the reassurance he was silently requesting.

And when they did the dishes, Grissom scrubbing and Sara drying, he took a deep breath and asked. "Do you want children?"

Sara blinked, obviously taken aback, but her eyes met his without flinching. "No, not really. I love Ed's kids, but I...kind of have other plans for my life."

Grissom dipped his head, acknowledging, and feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. Sara's gaze didn't waver. "Do you?"

He paused to organize his words before speaking. "While I believe any child with your genes would be an asset to humanity, children are not one of my ambitions."

Sara pursed her lips, a little humor in her eyes. "In other words, you don't want them either."

Grissom shook his head. "As you say, I have other plans." He hadn't seriously thought about children since late adolescence; they were an abstract that had never become tangible.

He rinsed out the pasta pot and handed it to Sara. "Thank you," she said, and the tone of her voice made it clear that the gratitude wasn't for the pot. Puzzled, Grissom raised his brows at her.

"You didn't just assume that I wanted kids," she explained, looking slightly embarrassed. "Sometimes it seems like everybody I talk to thinks my biological clock should be going off. When I tell them I'm not interested in children they look at me like I'm a freak."

Grissom reached out and took the damp towel from her hands, dried off his own, and then pulled Sara into his arms. "You're not a freak," he murmured, amused and tender. "You're a strong woman who knows what she wants out of life. Children shouldn't automatically be part of every female's plans."

Sara sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, then snickered. "Well, you're right about my knowing what I want." Her hands, which had come to rest on the small of his back, slid lower. "And what d'you know, I got it."

Her gentle squeeze, combined with her words, made Grissom laugh. He tilted his head far enough to place a kiss under her ear. "That reminds me, Ms. Sidle. Are you free for a sleepover again tonight?"

He reached back to capture one of her hands, and pulled it up to his mouth. "No strings attached," he added, letting his lips brush her palm but only half-meaning the seduction. "Just holding you all night would be fine."

The corners of Sara's mouth were twitching. "And pass up an opportunity for great sex? We have years of celibacy to make up for here, Gil." But under the teasing he could see that she understood the offer, and the kiss she gave him when she pulled away her hand was sweet and loving.

"Ew," someone said in passing, and they parted enough to see Joey walking casually past to fill a glass with ice from the fridge.

Grissom shrugged, and let Sara go, signing a swift "Well?" behind her nephew's back.

"After they go to bed," she signed back, taking the towel from where Grissom had left it on the counter and then speaking out loud. "No comments from the peanut gallery, please."

Joey, adding water to the ice, either didn't hear her or chose to ignore her, and Sara watched him go before pulling a pot lid from the drainer. "Being at your place will certainly cut down on the interruptions."

Grissom fished a wooden spoon from the soapy water and snagged the sponge for scrubbing. "That too."

They finished the dishes in peace, and as Sara hung up the dishtowel Grissom went to fetch the presents he had in fact brought back. If Joseph looked smug as well as delighted at the gift of a little model sailboat, Grissom didn't mind, and Kimmy was pleased with the palm-sized cedar jewelry box, opening it to sniff the sweet scent.

"You spoil them," Sara murmured in Grissom's ear as they sat together on the couch, watching Joey show off his new prize to Ed. Grissom shrugged, unconcerned, and Sara just let her hand slide through the crook of his arm.

**xxxx**

Later, musing over cups of cocoa at Grissom's apartment, they somehow started telling the most embarrassing stories they could think of from their childhoods. Sara leaned back against his arm where they sat, fully clothed, against the headboard of his bed, savoring the fact that he was willing to share with her.

"I took one hand from the handlebars, managed to signal for a right turn without losing my balance, and completely forgot to actually turn," Grissom said, finishing his tale of learning to ride his first bike. "I ran straight into the tree and bounced off the seat."

He grinned, and Sara laughed, almost losing her grip on her mug; she could definitely envision the curly-haired kid from Rosalie's photos doing just that. "I take it you weren't hurt?"

"My dignity more than anything," he admitted. "Your turn."

She swallowed a sip of cocoa. "I've told you all the good ones. The only other one I can think of was missing a dive at the pool once and landing smack on my back on the surface, and I was too dizzy to think it was funny."

"Did the handsome lifeguard have to rescue you?" Grissom teased.

She flashed him a smile. "Was he fifteen years older and devastatingly handsome? 'Fraid not. _She_ was probably fifty, and barely taller than me. And I got a huge lecture in the bargain."

The wind, which had continued all evening, rose again, howling around the building, and without even flickering the lights went out.

They both blinked in the sudden darkness, though the curtained window was a patch of faintest illumination. "I have a flashlight in my kit," Grissom said, but as he began to pull away Sara put a hand on his thigh.

"We don't need the lights yet, and they might come back on in a minute." She listened to the rush of air past the window. "This kind of reminds me of one of the picture books I read as a kid."

Grissom settled his arm back around her. "What was it about?"

"Wind. Not a storm wind, though." Sara looked back at the memory, slightly surprised at its clarity. "For a long time it was my favorite story, I used to get it out of the library all the time."

She remembered only one of the illustrations, but it was vivid--an elderly, bent little woman and the stern figure behind her, and the glimpse of a garden out the window. "The wind came from between the stars, went three times around the world, and left again. It carried people and animals in it, the wind I mean--I think it had the twelve dancing princesses, among others." She sighed a little. "It would take people with it, if they wanted to go."

"Oh?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah. But it was forever. _They mustn't hope to come back again,_ I think that was the line." She bit her lip, looking back at memory instead of into the darkness. "Every time the wind would rise before a storm, I'd go out in it, hoping that it was the star wind. I wanted to go with it so badly."

Grissom's arm tightened around her, as if at the mere thought of losing her. "Not just for the adventure, I take it," he said softly.

Sara shook her head. "No," she confirmed, equally softly. "I wanted to get away."

Grissom's hand moved in small circles on her abdomen, tiny soothing motions. "I could see you in it," he said after a moment. "Hair rippling, and your eyes lit up, swimming in air."

He sounded wistful, and Sara laughed a little. "Maybe," she agreed.

"Would you go now, if the wind came through?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

Sara turned her head, and kissed his cheek. "Hell no. I like it right here."

He sighed, a long low sound, then took the cup from her hand and set it on the table next to the bed, unhampered by the dark. "Good," he whispered, and kissed her thoroughly.

Sara tasted chocolate and desire, and smiled as she gave herself up to it. _This is exactly where I want to be. _

**See Chapter 25**


	25. Chapter 25

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**A short chapter, but hopefully a sweet one. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Sara? Sara, honey, wake up."

Grissom put a tentative hand on Sara's shoulder and shook her gently. She hadn't moved since she'd fallen asleep next to him, but the faint moaning coming from her now was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

She didn't move, but the moan deepened. Grissom, worried, shook her a little harder.

Sara's eyes snapped open, wide and dark in the dimness of his bedroom, and she made a strangled sort of gasp. The pulse at her throat was thrumming way too fast.

Going on instinct, Grissom slid an arm around her and pulled her against him. He was half-afraid that she would shove him away, but instead she huddled against him, her arms wrapped around her own torso.

She was shaking, hard shudders passing through her as though she were cold, but her skin was slick with sweat. Grissom held her tightly, berating himself. _She told me. She told me **years** ago, and I didn't really listen. _

But there was nothing he could do about the past. Grissom kept Sara close, and waited for her to relax.

It took a long time.

But gradually she softened, each separate muscle slowly unknotting, until she lay limp against him, her head resting on Grissom's chest. He lifted one hand to stroke her hair. "Sara?"

"Don't ask," she mumbled hoarsely, without looking up.

One corner of his mouth turned up in faint amusement. "I wasn't going to. Would you like me to make you some tea?"

Sara let out a long breath, then uncurled, letting her arms slide down to embrace him in turn. "No. Could you--"

She cut off the words, and when she didn't continue, Grissom made an inquiring noise. Sara sighed again.

"Could you just hold me for a little while?" she asked, her voice small and wavering.

Grissom swallowed hard, and tightened his hold on her again. "As long as you like, sweetheart." _Forever._

Sara tucked her head under his chin, and Grissom listened to her breathe, staring out into the room for a long time.

_What horrors do you carry in your head, Sara?_

**xxxx**

The next two weeks went rapidly. Sara's transfer application went through, and she began reducing the number of new cases she took up in preparation for the move. Grissom bought yet another set of plane tickets to return to California to move his mother at last.

"I wanted to come back here before returning to Las Vegas, but it just doesn't fit," he told her one night, distressed.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be in Vegas pretty soon after that." Sara kissed his temple, tightening her arms around him where they sat on her bed, Grissom with his back against her chest. She loved holding him like that, though he didn't often let her do it; but tonight he seemed in need of comfort, and she was more than happy to snuggle him.

Grissom folded his hands over hers where they lay on his chest. They had spent the Saturday helping Ed paint the first floor walls in preparation for selling the townhouse, and he still had flecks of white on his fingers, but she admired them nonetheless. _And now I finally know how they feel…_

She smirked. _Down, Sidle. Wrong place, wrong time. _

"I know, but I'll still miss you." Grissom sighed.

"It'll give you time to clean out half your closet," Sara teased. Grissom had offered her the choice of a new house entirely, but his place had plenty of room for both of them and she saw no reason to uproot him. _I always liked his place anyway, not that I saw much of it._

And if they found later that they needed more space, they could always move again.

Grissom tilted his head back lazily and pressed his lips to her throat. The soft prickle of his mustache made her shiver. "I'll clear out the spare bedroom for you," he murmured, the words vibrating slightly against her skin. "We can make it into a home office."

"I'd like that," Sara replied lightly, trying to keep her hormones under control without much success. "But will you have enough room?"

Grissom twisted around and sat up, leaning in to place a kiss just below her jaw before moving up to her lips. Sara let him cup her face in his hands, loving the feel of his skin against hers, the clean warm scent of him surrounding her. Sometimes she still had trouble believing it, that after all the pain and change he was hers at last.

"I have a storage unit," he muttered after a long kiss. "It's only half-full at the moment."

"Good," Sara said, struggling to remember what exactly they were talking about. Grissom's knees were straddling her legs, a position that let him loom over her slightly, and the temptation to simply slide flat and pull him down on top of her was strong, but Ed's stricture prevented her--that, and the fact that the door to her room was not locked.

Grissom really was a superb kisser, worshiping her mouth with as much attention as he gave to evidence and other important things. It almost hurt to pull her head back after another few delicious minutes. "Gil…"

He sighed, breath brushing past her cheek. "I know." He kissed the tip of her nose briefly and shifted to sit next to her. "Sorry."

Sara picked up his hand and laced her fingers with his. "No apologizing. You know damn well I didn't want to stop either."

He chuckled. "A few more weeks and it won't be a problem." He glanced at her clock. "Hey, if we're going to make our dinner reservations we'd better get ready."

Sara let him go and slid off the bed. "You're right." Grissom had made plans for dinner at a restaurant downtown; since he would leave for California again before they would have another weekend together, he wanted something "fancy", as he said. Sara was looking forward to seeing him in a suit again.

She strode over to her closet, where only about half her clothes still hung; the rest were packed. Flipping through the outfits, she was trying to decide when Grissom's voice came over her shoulder, a little diffident. "Could you wear the one you wore last time?"

"The burgundy one?" Sara pulled the dress out and held it up, considering. It was definitely a special-occasion dress. _But sometimes it's like every time we're together is special._

"Yeah, that's it. I like the way it...flutters." Grissom wiggled his fingers, eyes bright, and Sara laughed.

"Burgundy it is, then." She draped the dress over her desk chair and began rummaging for stockings and a slip, but when she turned, lingerie in hand, Grissom was still sitting on her bed. "Umm..."

"I can't watch?" he asked innocently, but she could see the smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth.

Sara cocked her head. "If I thought watching would be all you'd do, I might let you stay. Out."

Grissom sighed theatrically and shoved to his feet. "All right, all right." He headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "If you need me I'll be looking through the keyhole."

Her glare had no force. "If you're not ready by the time I'm done I'm leaving without you."

Grissom snickered, and left. Sara grinned at the closing door and pulled off her shirt.

He drove them downtown, and they talked about Las Vegas and Los Angeles, both of them determined to enjoy the time they had while they had it. The valet took Grissom's car, and Sara savored the snug of Grissom's arm through hers as they walked inside. The restaurant was crowded, and they were slightly early, so they went into the bar to wait.

Grissom ordered them both drinks at the long gleaming expanse of wood, but before their orders came he put his hand to his pocket and came out with his cellphone. "Excuse me a moment?"

"Sure," Sara said, and watched him fondly as he headed towards the back hallway in search of privacy. Their drinks arrived, and she leaned against the bar and sipped her Manhattan, waiting for Grissom to return.

"Can I get you another one of those?" a smooth voice said at her elbow. Sara turned to find a small bearded man standing next to her, smiling. He was a good two or three inches shorter than she, but that didn't seem to matter to him; his gaze held appreciation.

Sara gave him a polite smile. "No thank you."

That didn't seem to deter him. "May I offer you company instead, then?"

She considered him briefly, taking in details quickly with an investigator's eye. He was probably in his mid-forties, balding, well-off; he wore a suit but no tie, and didn't give off the vibes of someone desperate or deviant.

She hoped he would stay polite. "I'm here with someone, actually." She nodded at the Scotch and soda waiting for Grissom.

The man shrugged cheerfully. "Okay. Tell him he's a lucky guy."

Sara had to smile again as he moved away; she was inclined to look at such encounters with a cynical eye, but he had an air of honesty that disarmed her. _And he's got a healthy ego to be hitting on a woman who's four inches taller in heels. _

All the same, she hoped Grissom came back soon.

But when he did a few minutes later, she could see the familiar frown of concentration yards away. "What is it?" she asked as he reached her.

Grissom frowned harder, looking uncomfortable. "Body in a park," he said in a low voice, so as not to attract the attention of their neighbors. "A little girl, probably about six or seven."

Sara winced inwardly. _There must be major bugs, or they wouldn't have called him._

Grissom's face was a picture of indecision. "Go," she told him, appreciating his dilemma.

He hesitated. "It's a consulting job. I can turn it down."

Sara shook her head. "Gil. It's the work. I understand. _Go _already." She smiled at him, and he sighed, and thumbed off the mute to accept the job.

"You're not upset?" he asked, folding up the phone and pulling out his wallet.

She shrugged. "It's a body with bugs, but it's also somebody's missing kid. It's not like you're running off to do paperwork or something." Reaching out, she took his free hand in hers for a quick squeeze. "If it bothers you, you can make it up to me later."

She grinned teasingly, and he shook his head in turn, struggling to hide his smile and dropping a bill on the bar to pay for their drinks. "All right. Come on, I can see you to a cab at least."

"Sure you don't want some help?" she joked as they left the restaurant.

Grissom looked down at her outfit. "Don't tempt me." A taxi was conveniently disgorging passengers at the curb, and the driver nodded at Grissom's signal to wait.

"Call me later." Sara leaned in and kissed him, brief and warm. "I'll be up."

Grissom caught her head in his hands and brought her lips back to his for a longer, deeper kiss, oblivious for once to their surroundings. "You astound me," he said softly when he released her. "I love you."

Then he was tucking her into the cab, apparently oblivious to the shock that made her speechless, and giving the driver her address with his usual courtesy. As the vehicle pulled away, Sara twisted around to watch him striding across the parking lot towards his own car. He was opening his phone as he went, and she figured with stunned hilarity that he was so distracted by the prospect of bugs that he hadn't realized that it was the first time, aside from one oblique quote, that he'd told her he loved her.

_So Gil._

She pulled on her seatbelt and settled back, and just couldn't stop smiling.

**xxxx**

She was waiting for him again.

Grissom smiled as he saw the line of light under his apartment door. He'd already spotted Sara's Mercedes in the parking lot, but it was warming to see that someone was anticipating his arrival.

_Well, kind of._ She was curled up in one of the armchairs, stockinged toes peeking out from under her skirt, and Grissom smiled down at her, feeling a tender ache behind his breastbone. He pulled off his coat and stepped out of his shoes before sliding his arms carefully beneath her and lifting.

Sara sighed, wrinkled her nose, and snuggled closer to him as he carried her into his bedroom, setting her down on the rumpled sheet. It was a delicate job to get her out of the dress without waking her, but eventually he managed it, carefully hanging the garment up to keep it from wrinkling further.

Grissom tucked the covers carefully around her shoulders before stripping off his clothes and heading for the shower.

He'd just rinsed off the lemon juice when the shower door swung open and Sara stepped in behind him. "You're supposed to be sleeping," he told her, but she just snorted and reached for the shampoo.

She seemed to love to wash his hair, something he didn't quite understand; but her fingers felt wonderful rubbing his scalp, so Grissom never objected. When he was clean all over, Sara turned him in the narrow space, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him over seriously; but whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her, for she kissed him firmly and shut off the water.

They dried each other off; moved by an impulse he didn't quite understand, Grissom sat Sara down on the bed in her towel and knelt behind her so that he could work the knots out of her hair with his comb.

Still under some spell of silence, they lay down together naked, Grissom pulling the covers up over them both. Sara rolled over until she could rest her forearms on his chest and her chin on her arms, and looked down into his face for a long while, her expression grave. Grissom draped his own arm over her waist and waited.

"I love you too," she said at last, solemn and peaceful.

Her words spread through Grissom's veins like endorphins, a giddy, quiet warmth. He cupped her cheek in one hand, running his thumb over her cheekbone, unable to speak.

She smiled at him, a tiny serene smile, and leaned over to shut out the light before returning to his arms.

They slept as though they shared one skin, and even in his dreams Grissom was happy.

**See Chapter 26**


	26. Chapter 26

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Again, the characters in this story would most likely be using American Sign Language rather than Signed English, so the syntax as shown is not correct. Author's privilege.   
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Honestly, Grace, you don't have to do this," Sara said helplessly, wondering how she had so quickly lost control of the situation.

"I know," Gracie said cheerfully, steaming past Sara with a roller in her hands, her bright hair mostly hidden under an old bandanna. "I like painting."

Sara shook her head, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She had declared her intention of repainting the loft bedroom before leaving, but hadn't quite realized what a project it was to attempt on one's own. She crouched down and went back to her careful strokes along the trim near the floor.

"How come you're doing this all by yourself?" Gracie asked, coating the roller with paint before attacking one wall with casual skill.

Sara shrugged, and dipped her brush. "Gil's in L.A., Ed's busy, Joey's too young though I might let him do the closet, and the smell of paint makes Kimmy sick." She glanced over at the housekeeper, whose eyes were brighter these days than they had been in a long time. "Not that I'm not grateful, but I thought your Saturdays were all booked."

Gracie shrugged shoulders enveloped in one of the smocks she wore for heavy cleaning. "Since I don't...have so many bills these days, I've cut back on my clients." She shot Sara a look that was half-rueful, half-amused. "So now I have to find some way to burn off the extra energy."

Sara laughed. They'd already settled on a loan so that Gracie could afford to move that summer; knowing the other woman as she did, however, Sara suspected that Gracie's offer to help her paint was motivated less by gratitude and more by friendship. _And by the desire to be hanging out around Ed._

The thought both amused and pleased her, and Sara started laying bets with herself as to whether Ed would wander up and start helping paint before the day was over.

"Where's all your stuff?" Gracie asked, stretching a little to let the roller reach the top of the wall.

"The packed stuff is in the basement," Sara said, naming what was actually the ground floor. "I put the rest in the guest bedroom for the moment. Half the furniture's in Ed's room until this dries out, but we took the bed apart and put it downstairs too." She smoothed more paint on the wall, enjoying the physical precision of the act. It was as repetitive as some kinds of evidence processing, but carried no weight of legal expectations.

"So you're leaving in what, three weeks?" Grace asked. "And does the ceiling need another coat?"

"Nope, it's fine," Sara answered. "Three weeks, yeah. The agency's giving me a week to move, which should be plenty."

Gracie snorted. "Optimist."

Sara snickered back and sat down on the cloth-covered floor, stretching out her legs to get rid of the kinks. Work had made her used to crouching, but it still got to her after a while. "It's mostly books and junk. I don't have a lot of furniture, you know."

The furnishings of the loft had mostly been there when she'd arrived; Sara had added a couple of pieces from her apartment in Las Vegas, but three more years of use and wear had made most of it not worth taking along, and a large part of the rest, such as bookshelves, was not special enough to bother with. _I can get replacements in Vegas and save the hassle of shipping it. _

"This is true." Gracie wiped at a droplet of paint on her cheek, and mostly succeeded in smearing it.

Sara snagged a rag from a stack nearby and tossed it at Gracie. "Here." She watched to make sure the other woman got all the paint, then went back to her task. An ancient Red Sox cap protected her own hair.

"Well, we're going to miss you," Gracie said frankly, bending to refresh her roller before beginning again. "The kids most of all."

"I know," Sara answered, feeling a little guilty. "But we won't be that far away. And this was only supposed to be temporary to begin with."

Gracie laughed. "Life's what happens when you're making other plans," she quoted.

They painted in peace for a long while, following the light around the room; Sara went up on a ladder and decided she didn't have to repaint the window trim, and Gracie showed her a trick for corners, and eventually the intercom blared with Ed's voice telling them that lunch was served.

He came back up with them afterwards, tying a rag around his head and waltzing with the long roller to make them laugh, and Sara watched him smile at Gracie and Gracie smile at him, and felt confident that at least her family--her precious, it-was-only-going-to-be-temporary family--would be in excellent hands.

**xxxx**

Grissom took a firm grip on his fraying temper, and began again. "Mom," he signed patiently, "it's all arranged. Jack packed most of your things, and the movers are coming tomorrow to take the furniture. We'll spend tonight and tomorrow at your sister's and get you settled in the next day."

But Rosalie was scarcely paying attention, her eyes darting from his hands to the bare walls of her familiar apartment. "But what if I don't like it?" she signed back agitatedly. "There might not be any other Deaf people there, I'd be all alone."

"There _are_ Deaf people there, Mom." Grissom kept his expression calm; showing his frustration would only make things worse. "Several of the staff know ASL. You'll be fine." As her gaze moved away again, he reached out and gently caught her hands in his, redirecting her attention to his face. "You remember Flora? She used to live in the other wing."

At Rosalie's nod, uncertain as it was, Grissom released her. "She moved to Verde Ridge, Mom. You already know someone who lives there."

He'd lost track of how many times they'd had this conversation, or some variation thereof. Rosalie, upset by the fact of moving, was simply refusing to take it in.

Grissom turned his head as Susan emerged from Rosalie's bedroom, a small wheeled overnight bag tugged behind her. "All set," she said brightly, waving to get her older sister's attention. "Rosie, get your coat. Jack's grilling burgers for supper and I don't want to be late."

Rosalie threw up her hands, but went to fetch her jacket. Behind her back, Susan gave Grissom a tired smile.

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the night at our place, Gil? We'd love to have you."

He shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I'll stay here and finish up a few things."

"Well, be sure and eat something." She rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "And say hi to that pretty girl of yours."

Grissom smiled a little, and helped his mother into her coat before picking up the suitcase and escorting the ladies downstairs to Susan's car. The sun was low, but Grissom knew Susan would make it home before dusk; her night vision was poor enough now to keep her from driving in the dark. He kissed Rosalie goodnight and waved as they drove away, and then turned to go back inside.

Despite the fact that it was nearly empty, Rosalie's apartment seemed cramped to him, thick with an oppressive melancholy. Grissom had managed to find her a good place to go, but the victory was Pyrrhic.

_I'm just glad she's not refusing outright. _That would land them in more trouble and heartache than Grissom thought he could bear; they would have to have Rosalie legally declared incompetent to complete the move, and the mere thought made Grissom's head hurt.

He finished labeling the furniture hastily, trying not to think about it too much. Half the items were going into storage, and it was an unacknowledged but bitter truth that they would not be taken out again until Rosalie's death. She was never going to be well enough to have her own apartment again.

Finally Grissom locked her door and headed down the hall to the guest room. His stomach roiled, and he felt vaguely sick, too stressed to eat. Instead, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to summon some calm.

Gradually his breathing slowed, and he slipped into an uneasy half-doze, feeling a migraine threatening on the edge of his consciousness--not quite close enough to make him take a pill, but hovering nonetheless.

The whole thing was taking so much longer than it should. Rosalie's energy had waned over the past few years, and the stress of packing and moving drained her quickly. She had to make decisions about what to take with her and what to put in storage, but half the time she couldn't make up her mind, and often she changed it. Jack, whose ASL had never advanced beyond the basics, usually referred her to Grissom or Susan when Rosalie asked about some knickknack or painting; Susan, Grissom had noticed, often put on an absent-minded air, soothing Rosalie out of the idea of looking for something already packed.

Grissom, appalled by the temptation to lie to her and tell her that what she was looking for was going someplace it wasn't, usually managed to distract her with another question, but he still often found himself opening up a carefully taped box to dig through newspaper and soy peanuts for some small treasure.

It hurt. It hurt badly, the three of them working around Rosalie's distress and confusion to try to get things done. Part of the confusion was due to stress, Grissom knew that; once back in a comfortable routine, she would be clearer again.

He sighed, letting his consciousness drift where it willed--which was, inevitably, back to Sara.

_Sara._

Oh, he missed her. Missed her more than those three years of emptiness, more than Christmas, more even than his last trip to Los Angeles. It was partly stress, he knew, but that didn't change the fact that he kept thinking of things to tell her, except she wasn't there; that his bed was empty and cold; that three weeks in California--two, now--seemed to stretch out unbearably.

_And even then it'll be another week or so before we actually see each other. _Rosalie would move, and Grissom would stay for at least six or seven days to make sure she was settling in properly, and then he had to go back to Vegas and catch up on the things that needed doing so he could resume his job, albeit in a slightly altered capacity. Assuming no major case interfered, Sara would join him in Vegas soon after that, and they could start their life together.

Grissom's heartbeat eased a little as he dwelled on the thought. He still had the fantasy of letting her into his home, to change it as she saw fit, to fill its empty corners with her vital presence. And now it looked as though it were actually going to be fulfilled.

He missed her smile, her mind, her kiss; he missed her hands on him, and the smell of her hair, and the haven of her body. Not just the lovemaking, though that was better than he'd thought such things could be; he missed the sheer animal comfort of having someone nearby, of having a living body to curl around and to warm him while he slept.

And there was still the contents of that small box. Grissom didn't know when he was going to ask Sara to marry him--all he knew was that the time just hadn't come before he'd had to leave her. _I might put it off for a while. I'll take her any way I can get her. Maybe it would be better to wait until things settle down. _

_If she does say yes, I don't want her to have any doubts. _

In the back of his mind, Grissom knew he should get up and eat something, and if not that then at least take off his shoes and pants and crawl under the covers so he could sleep comfortably. But he didn't want to move; he wanted to stay in this half-awake state, where Sara's face and voice were closer--

His cellphone rang, jarring him out of his daze. Grissom sat up, blinking, and reached for it, too dizzy to look at the display. "Hello?"

"Gil," came Sara's voice, real this time, warm with love. Grissom closed his eyes in relief, and lay back down.

**x**

He sounded so tired.

Sara's heart went out to Grissom as he wearily described his day with Rosalie, skimming most of the details but leaving enough in that she could tell how difficult it had been for him. The whole thing was taking a toll on his spirit; this was the man who could work double shifts without losing his laser focus, but now he seemed exhausted after a day of doing little more than packing boxes.

She wanted badly to be able to hold him, to wrap her arms around him and let him rest his head on her collarbone in the place that seemed made for its weight, but all she could do at the moment was listen and make encouraging noises.

It had become a ritual, these evening phone calls; well, night for Sara, after the kids had gone to bed and there would be no small voice piping up to interrupt the conversation. Sara craved the contact as much as she suspected Grissom did. _For getting along fine without him for three years, you sure do miss him now._

But that was a given. She had never really managed to uproot Grissom from her heart; now that he was back in her life, far surpassing her half-smothered daydreams, she missed him all the more when he was gone.

"Sara," he said, their exchange of news finished, "may I ask you something?"

The tone of his voice and the fact that he was asking told her that it was no light request. _But I'm not sure I have any real secrets from him at this point anyway._ "Sure."

"Uh...what happened to your...your mother?"

Sara blinked at her own ceiling, not expecting the question, but the sense of invasion that might once have accompanied it was absent. She stretched a little and tucked her pillow more firmly under her head. "She died, oh, about eight years after she killed my father."

"Oh." Grissom sounded a little startled. Knowing he had to be curious, she smiled faintly and continued.

"She was in prison for six years, but got released early for good behavior. She had lung cancer; she probably had it before she got out. She was still smoking practically up to the day she died." Sara shrugged against the pillow. "I only saw her once after she got paroled."

"Was that your choice?" Grissom asked softly.

"Pretty much, yeah." Sara pursed her lips thoughtfully. Living with her brother, and having to hash out some of their issues from the past, had drained a lot of her resentment towards both her parents; for the most part, they were firmly in the past as well, where they belonged. She still had bleak moments of wondering whether their actions would forever skew her future, but such times were rarer than they had been.

"Hm," Grissom said, the noise he often used to let her know he was listening. She let her mouth turn up.

"When I get unpacked I'll show you a picture of her if you like, though you've probably seen one on the bookcase in the living room."

"I wondered about that." His tone held the mild satisfaction of a small mystery solved.

"Yeah, Ed figured the kids should have some image of their grandparents on that side as well as Jenny's parents." She rubbed her eyes. "Before you ask, they don't know the details yet, only that they're dead."

"That's probably wise," Grissom agreed. His voice was fading a little, and Sara frowned.

"Gil, did you eat anything?"

"Uh, no," he admitted.

"Do I have to crawl through the phone and force something down your throat?" she threatened, grinning, and he chuckled.

"I wish you could. Honestly, Sara, I'm too tired. I just want to sleep."

"Well, all right," she said, with an exaggerated sigh. "As long as you promise to eat breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am." Grissom laughed again. She heard a rustle of fabric.

"I should let you go," she said reluctantly.

"Not yet." More rustling. "Would you mind..."

He trailed off. Sara sat up a little. "What?"

"Would you talk to me? Until I fall asleep?"

He sounded so tired, and so shy, that Sara's heart ached sharply. "Of course."

A sigh. "Thank you."

Further rustling reached her ears, and she assumed he was getting under the covers. "What do you want me to talk about?" she asked, feeling slightly at a loss.

"Whatever you like," Grissom said. "Tell me about the kids."

"Okay." Sara took a breath, picturing him in the impersonal room she'd stayed in at Christmas, and pitched her voice to a soothing level. "Kimmy came home yesterday with an A on her book report..."

It didn't take long before his low snuffle came through the phone, letting Sara know that he'd succumbed to sleep. She smiled at her ceiling, bittersweet emotion making her eyes prickle. "Love you, Gil," she said softly, and shut the phone.

**xxxx**

"What do you think? Should we just set things up ahead of time?" Grissom asked, appreciating the heat of the coffee cup wrapped in his hands.

Susan, on the other side of the well-scrubbed kitchen table, sighed tiredly. "I don't know, Gil. She'll probably want to rearrange everything if we do that."

"You're right." Grissom echoed the sigh. Rosalie was still asleep in Susan's guest room, and he'd driven over to his aunt's house a little early so they could talk. And to keep his promise to Sara--the remains of a noble breakfast covered the table between them. Jack, as taciturn as ever, had eaten and vanished into his den to read the paper before they left.

"Set up the furniture," Susan suggested. "I'll keep her busy for the day, and Jack can give you a hand. Then we'll take her over tomorrow and let her have the fun of putting everything where she wants it."

"It'll take days," Grissom pointed out.

Susan shrugged, giving him a wry smile that was tinged with a little puckish humor. "What else is retirement good for, Gil dear? I don't have anything that can't be put off for a bit, and it'll keep her busy while she settles in."

Grissom nodded, then set down his cup to cover her hand with his own. "I really appreciate your help with this," he told her quietly. "I honestly don't know what I'd have done without you."

Susan turned her hand over to squeeze his. "You're family. I know how hard this is for you, Gil dear. You're a good boy to do so much for her."

"I feel much better knowing you're close by," he admitted.

She giggled, a sweet sound, and let him go to pour them both more coffee. "Rosie and I have been looking after each other for over seventy years now. This is business as usual."

Grissom drove Jack and himself to Rosalie's old apartment with more energy than he'd had the night before, though in much the same grim state of mind. But for a change things went smoothly--the movers turned up on time, and he and Jack slipped into an almost-wordless rapport at the new place, figuring out where each piece would best fit without needing to discuss it. They ate the enormous lunch that Rosalie had packed for them, and then Grissom dropped Jack back at his house before heading out to stock the small refrigerator and pantry with foodstuffs. Rosalie would eat most of her meals in the dining room of the nursing home, but having snacks on hand as well as coffee to offer guests would be good.

He finished up the day by plugging in the TTY and other assistance devices, and setting up Rosalie's little computer so that she would have communication options the moment she stepped inside. Then he went back to Susan and Jack's for a shower, and to take them all out for dinner.

Eating out was one of Rosalie's pleasures in life, despite her skill as a cook, and she brightened out of her worried state at the prospect. Grissom chose an upscale steakhouse, knowing that Jack appreciated a good New York strip, and--he admitted silently to himself--knowing that meat in general was about to become rarer in his own life. It wasn't that Sara would make him give it up, but Grissom didn't think he'd be bringing a lot of beef home, either.

_Steak or Sara. _Grissom shook his head, amused at himself, as he held the door of the restaurant for his relations. _As though there were actually a choice. _

**xxxx**

Sara stared at the open e-mail window on her laptop screen, halfheartedly trying to compose a letter to Greg, but the words didn't want to come.

_What do I tell him? That Gil and I have been seeing each other for the past seven months? Or that hey, I'm coming back to Vegas, but I can't tell you why? _

She and Grissom hadn't discussed telling their friends about their relationship, and knowing that he hadn't revealed why he'd taken a leave of absence, she was hesitant to spill the beans without talking to him first. _He may just want to tell them when he sees them. I don't want to screw things up._

And it would require a lot of explanation. Sara sighed and leaned an elbow on the small desk in Ed's guest room. There would be exclamations, and questions, and probably some hurt at the deception, and…

_I don't want to deal with it. Not without Gil. _She closed the window with the tap of a key. _Sorry, Greg, it'll just have to be a surprise. _

However, that didn't mean she couldn't _talk _to him. Sara glanced at the computer's clock, and reached for her cellphone; Greg was most likely awake and coherent.

"Sara!" came his happy greeting when he answered, and the sound made her smile; as annoying as he could be at times, Greg was generally a mood-lifter.

They chatted easily about evidence collection, the intransigence of lawyers, and Greg's steady girlfriend for a while, just sharing news; Sara made him tell her about the latest sally in his practical joke war with Hodges, which took some doing, as Hodges had triumphed on the last round.

But her giggles faded when Greg switched topics abruptly. "Grissom's coming back."

"I thought his leave of absence was for six months," Sara said cautiously. "Shouldn't he have been back by now?"

"He pushed it for two more months. I dunno--" Greg sounded more puzzled than worried. "He was back here a few weeks ago but I missed him--he was only in town overnight, according to Catherine."

"Well, maybe he finished whatever he needed to do," Sara suggested, half amused at knowing what Grissom was really up to, and half sad at the deception she was practicing on her friend.

"Maybe. She said he looked really good, so I guess that's something."

"D'you miss him?" Sara asked. She didn't know how their relationship had developed after she'd gone, though she knew Greg still respected Grissom deeply.

"Yeah, sure. The place isn't the same without the Bugman lurking around some corner. Warrick said Days had to call someone in to deal with an insect timeline last month, and it was _weird._"

Sara had to laugh. "Well, I guess things will be back to normal soon out there."

"What's normal?" Greg asked comically. "So, you seeing anyone yet?"

He loved to tease her about her dateless state, and she usually let him, but suddenly a small imp rose up inside her, and she decided to tease him back. "Yes, actually."

"No way! Who is he? Is he good enough for you or do Nick and I have to come out there and kick his ass?"

"He's a good guy," Sara said, amused by his enthusiasm. "And I can damn well kick his ass myself if I need to."

"Come on, Sara, names! Details!" She could see him in her mind's eye, bouncing a little with impatience.

"Nope, no names yet. He's a scientist--"

"Of course," Greg interjected. "And smart, right?"

"Very." She snickered. "Sweet, funny, and he doesn't get grossed out by what I do."

"Is he rich?"  
"Greg!" she scolded. "What are you, my grandmother?"

"Okay, okay. I want photos, you know. Documented proof."

"Not yet," she repeated, still mischievous. "But I'll tell you what--the next time we see each other, I'll introduce you to him."

"Yeah, sometime in the next decade, huh, Sara? You've been gone too long."

"You could always come visit here," she pointed out, knowing perfectly well that he never had the vacation time to spare.

"Maybe next Christmas. Damn, I hate to go, but I have to get ready for work."

"Sure. E-mail me."

They said goodbye, and Sara closed her phone, grinning. _Oh, Greggo. Are we going to have a surprise for you._

**See Chapter 27**


	27. Chapter 27

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Apologies for last week's hiatus; I'm back on track now and expecting no further delays. Thanks for your patience!  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom stood in the shadowy spot formed by a burnt-out light overhead, watching the activity on the other side of the DNA lab and shaking his head with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. _I should have known._

The breakroom windows showed clearly the two figures perched shakily on chairs as they tried to hang a banner from the ceiling. He couldn't make out the entire thing, but he could see enough to know that it probably said _Welcome back Grissom._ Beyond Greg and Gen was a sheet cake on the table, and Grissom found himself hoping that they didn't drop the banner on top of it--or fall on it themselves.

Betty was brewing a fresh pot of coffee and teasing the workers, judging by the grin on her face, and as Grissom observed unseen Abdul came striding into the room, glancing at his watch and admonishing them. Grissom wondered if his second-in-command disapproved of the surprise, but then changed his mind when Abdul gestured Gen down from her perch and took her place. His longer arms made easy work of fastening the banner into place.

Still Grissom lingered in the shadow, feeling oddly uncertain. He hated having a fuss made over himself; in the past, he might have gone briskly in and damped the celebration as quickly as possible. But he kept remembering the fun of setting up the surprise for Greg when the younger man had passed his CSI proficiency, and the moment of true unity when they'd all gathered to congratulate him.

_Sometimes it's not about the person being celebrated,_ he thought. _It's about the people doing the celebrating._

And whether it was about him or not, the fact that his team had gone to the time and trouble of putting a welcome-back together was making his chest ache pleasurably. He'd gone away without much thought about them aside from the hope that they would manage in his absence; until Greg's first phone call, he'd never considered that they might actually miss him.

_Might as well make the best of it. _

A voice behind him made him straighten. "Hey, boss."

"Nick," Grissom said comically as he turned, "I haven't been your boss in over three years."

"Eh, details," Nick said, beaming; Grissom rather thought Nick wanted to hug him, but his former subordinate settled for a strong handshake instead. "Damn, Griss, Catherine was right--you look great!"

"A vacation can do that," Grissom replied, keeping his face relatively straight but returning the handshake with pleasure. It was very good to see Nick; Grissom was again realizing how much he had missed the lab and its people, beneath his life in Virginia. "How are things?"

Nick shrugged easily. "Same old, same old." He too turned to watch the activity in the breakroom. "Guess it's not much of a surprise now, huh?"

Grissom smirked a little as Warrick and Catherine joined the night shift, Catherine immediately going over to rearrange the spread of paper plates and napkins. "I can pretend, if necessary."

Nick shot him a quick look, but didn't comment on Grissom's apparent lack of dismay. "I told them you wouldn't want a big fuss, but Greg and Cath wouldn't listen."

"Of course not." Grissom cocked his head. "Should I go over now, or wait to be fetched?"

Nick flashed him another smile. "Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting you in the parking lot and luring you in there." He glanced at his watch. "In about three minutes."

"Ah. Well, far be it from me to break the rules." Grissom gestured at his office down the hall. "Shall we wait there? You can always claim I insisted on stopping first."

So they dawdled in Grissom's office for a few minutes, Grissom listening to Nick's rundown of cases with fresh interest. _All else aside, I needed a break,_ he realized with some surprise. Grief and depression had made work his sole outlet; time away from it had renewed his curiosity and sense of purpose.

As Grissom expected, the breakroom was dark as they approached it, Nick going through his rather lame spiel of picking up a file he'd left there. But Grissom didn't have to feign surprise entirely when the lights snapped on; it wasn't just the people he'd seen a moment before, but also Robbins, Brass, and a handful of techs, all of them crowding the small room to cheer him. Grissom found his throat tightening a little at the noise and the happy faces, and he didn't try to stop the smile.

It _was _good to be back.

**xxxx**

_We got Mom settled, finally,_ Grissom's e-mail said, and Sara smiled as she reread it for the second time. Grissom's messages were no substitute for the man himself, but they were better than nothing, and in a moment of loneliness she'd decided to read over his recent ones.

_Susan was right,_ it went on. _She was immediately absorbed in getting everything arranged the way she wanted it, and in making friends with the Deaf residents she didn't already know. I am satisfied, if not happy, to see that the security measures are strong; she isn't yet at the stage that requires an alarm bracelet, but it's quite difficult for anyone to leave the building without passing under the nose of a staff member. And the gardens here are sufficient and enclosed. _

_Susan and Jack will be visiting as usual, which is also greatly reassuring. I know I can rely on them to tell me if something is wrong, long before Mom will let me know. And the staff is alert and charged to pass on any concerns. _

_Still...I wish it all weren't necessary. _

Sara sighed, grieving for both Grissom and his elegant mother. She hardly knew Rosalie, but it hurt all the same to know that the older woman was losing her grip on life. And she positively ached for Grissom.

_But he's not alone in dealing with it. And he doesn't ever have to be. _

She scrolled further down.

_Work has, not surprisingly, changed little from when I left. The night shift is a cohesive unit, my presence isn't missed there, and even though it's only been a week (and much of that taken up with paperwork) my new position seems to fit well. Isabeau seems to be using me as a source of expertise as well as the resident entomologist, sending me out to advise and teach on the odder or more difficult cases. She claims that I have more experience than all the shifts put together, and while she exaggerates, it's true that I'm the only person on staff who's handled both a body embedded in wax and a scene entirely contaminated with six kinds of blood, for instance. And I've always enjoyed teaching. I think she has something wider in mind, because she keeps making noises about sending me out to some of the smaller departments in the state. If it results in better forensic practices, I can't say I'd mind. _

_Your belongings arrived yesterday, safe and sealed, and are now stacked in the garage to wait for your arrival. It seems odd to have them and not you, though I do understand that your testimony must come first. Still, I miss you badly. _

Sara bit her lip, her eyes prickling at the simple words. "I miss you too," she murmured to the screen.

She had been preparing to leave, and had in fact sent the bulk of her stuff off in a moving truck, when she had been suddenly subpoenaed in a trial whose case she had worked two years previously. So another week had elapsed, most of it spent sitting in the back of a stuffy courtroom and waiting for one side or the other to call on her.

It was infuriating, in a way; waiting around to testify was part of the job, if a boring one, but it was very frustrating to be almost on the point of leaving to join her lover and start a new life, and then to get yanked back into duty.

_But he understands. _Sara closed the e-mail and sat back, dwelling on that knowledge and savoring it. _And it's not like he's going to disappear in the meantime. _

_Hey, he'd better not. _

**xxxx**

Grissom shifted on the couch, feeling restless. His townhouse was quiet, and he couldn't seem to settle into anything--not TV or journals or letter-writing. He'd fed his roaches, cleaned the cricket tank, put on Vivaldi, and yet he knew that he was too edgy to sleep.

_Relax,_ he scolded himself. _If you don't get at least some rest, you won't be much good at work tomorrow. It's not a good idea to fall asleep in the middle of a meeting. _

But not even a cup of tea soothed him. Finally Grissom opened the door to his garage and padded out into it--his Mercedes was parked in the driveway for the duration--to look over the neat stacks of boxes and the few pieces of furniture that half-filled the space.

All the boxes were taped to a fare-thee-well and neatly labeled in Sara's printing. Grissom searched through them for a moment, trying to decide, but he knew that she would have packed everything clean. In the end he chose a large, light box, pulling a knife from his pocket and slicing carefully through the tape so he could reach in.

It seemed slightly karmic that the first thing his fingers grasped was the large pink stuffed lizard. It regarded him with the same slightly skeptical expression Grissom figured was on his own face, but after a moment Grissom shrugged.

"You'll do."

He closed the box, placing another on top to keep it shut, and tucked the lizard under his arm as he went back inside. Ten minutes later his teeth were brushed and his alarm was set, and Grissom lay down in bed, wrapping his arms around the lizard and trying to ignore the faint sense of ridiculousness.

But both his tension and his embarrassment ebbed as the plush warmed and the subtle scent of Sara rose from it to his nose. Within minutes, he was asleep.

**xxxx**

Sara rapped on the open door of Toby Washington's office and took his vague gesture as the invitation it was meant to be. The click of the door closing behind her made him look up from the file he was holding, and his face went from mild inquiry to resignation when he saw who had entered. "Sidle."

It would have sounded brusque, except Washington referred to all his people by their unadorned last names; titles were reserved for formality. In return, they all called him Toby, or Boss, or Slavedriver if the occasion warranted it, and smiled when they said it. Sara realized with a small pulse of sadness that she would miss this office, whose casual work environment hid the powerful mesh of personalities and abilities that made it one of the best in the Bureau.

"You finished?" he asked quietly, and Sara nodded, answering the question on all its levels.

Washington sighed, and dropped the file on the nearest stack of paper before climbing to his feet. "All right."

He came around his desk and enveloped Sara in a long-armed hug; she hugged him back, knowing that no matter how good her supervisor in Las Vegas was going to be, she would definitely feel the loss of Toby as well.

"We're gonna miss you around here," he grumbled as he released her. "Even if I won't have to come kick you out of the labs any more."

"Just think, you'll get the back room couch back," Sara teased, trying to smile; she'd only slept on it twice, but it had become a running joke.

"Yeah, yeah. Knock 'em dead in Vegas, Sidle. You gotta maintain our rep out there." Washington enveloped her hand in his, then let her go to shove his door open again and wave her through it.

Sara halted halfway out the door, eyes widening at the sight of every agent in the big room on their feet, looking over cubicle walls or standing next to desks.

Applauding.

Sara closed her eyes briefly, feeling her cheeks heat with a mixture of extreme embarrassment and pleasure at the accolade. She'd made no close friends in the office, but there were plenty of people she enjoyed working with, and apparently the sentiment was returned.

When she looked again, they were still applauding, smiling at her; one or two of the more boisterous whistled. Shaking her head, Sara glanced back at Washington. "Are you responsible for this?"

He gave her an overly innocent look. "Nah, I've got more sense. Go on, greet your public." He shoved her gently.

Much to Sara's relief, there was no actual party, but it took her almost fifteen minutes to work her way out of the office as various of her fellow agents took the opportunity to say goodbye. She swapped e-mail addresses with a few of them, knowing that they were unlikely to communicate about anything other than a challenging case, but she appreciated the sentiment.

Finally she found herself walking through the parking garage for the last time, carrying a shopping bag half-full of personal items from her desk, and she paused for a moment as she approached her car to remember necking with Grissom there, and the time they had teetered on the brink of giving up.

Then she shook her head and climbed into her car. It felt odd to be leaving work in the middle of the day, with no scene to go to or double shift behind her, and when she pulled out of the garage the sunlight seemed almost too bright.

But it was one of those sweet mild days that spring sometimes brings, and on impulse Sara punched the roof button before sliding on her sunglasses. _What good is a convertible if you don't take the top down?_

Feeling suddenly lighthearted, Sara grinned and headed for home.

**x**

The next morning started out the same as usual, except that after starting the coffee she returned upstairs and pulled on jeans and a sweater instead of the usual crisp pantsuit, and simply ran a brush through her hair instead of styling it. She came back down to the kitchen a little early as a consequence, and busied herself setting out the cereal bowls and milk for her niece and nephew.

Joey came in and applied himself to breakfast with his usual concentration, but Kimmy dumped her backpack by her stool and picked at her cornflakes silently. Sara, knowing the problem, said nothing; this was not something that words could help at the moment.

Ed came in soon after, unnaturally awake but his usual cheerful self; Sara gave him a speaking glance, and he nodded, and acted as though that morning were perfectly ordinary.

The time seemed to slip away more quickly than usual; before too long Kimmy slipped down from her stool and went to brush her teeth, and Sara looked over to Joseph. "Hey kiddo, I'm going to run Kimmy to school, and you'll be gone by the time I get back, so I'm going to say goodbye now."

Her nephew set down his spoon and looked up at her solemnly. "I don't want you to go, Aunt Sara."

His words put a lump in her throat, and she leaned down to gather him up. His arms went around her neck; he was really too big for the cuddle, but she didn't care. "I don't want to leave you, Joey. But I'll visit you in Los Angeles, and you can come visit me in Las Vegas."

He was silent a long moment, and then nodded against her neck. "Okay."

She managed to set him down without letting a tear squeeze out, and leaned down to kiss his slightly sticky cheek. He made a face at her, and Sara chuckled. "Have a good day at school, kiddo."

Joey nodded again, and Sara grabbed her keys from the counter and headed down to her car.

Kimmy joined her a few minutes later, dropping her pack behind her seat and belting herself in without a word. Sara respected her silence and backed the car down the drive and into the morning light. She could hazard a guess as to the emotions roiling inside Kimmy, and she figured that they would find a release before the two of them reached the school.

She was right; two blocks away from the building, stopped at the last light, words burst forth from Kimmy. "Why do you have to go!"

Sara knew that Kimmy already knew the answer, and replied instead to the real question, her voice gentle. "It's not forever. I know it's a lot of change right now, but that's what happens sometimes."

Kimmy was too old to fold her arms over her chest and pout, but her fists clenched as Sara pulled away from the light and carefully drove the remaining distance to the school parking lot. "It's not fair."

Sara shut off the engine and turned a little in her seat. It would be so easy to give her niece platitudes, or a useless effort at perspective, but neither would help. Kimmy's world had been shattered once before, and while Sara's departure was not nearly so drastic, Kimmy was still losing the immediate presence of one of the cornerstones of her life.

"I know," Sara repeated sympathetically. Taking a chance, she reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair from Kimmy's forehead. "I'm going to miss you very much."

Her niece glared a moment longer, and then her face crumpled, and Sara was able to release their seatbelts and gather Kimmy into a hug made awkward by the gear shift between them. The girl burrowed into Sara's arms, a few hot tears soaking through Sara's sweater, but only a few.

Sara held her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo, and abruptly wondered if her own decision of where to go would have been the same if Ed had not already decided to move to the other side of the country.

But the speculation was pointless. Sara didn't loosen her grip until Kimmy began to pull away, her face flushed but calmer. "I'll e-mail you lots," Sara promised softly.

"Yeah." Kimmy sniffed back a last tear and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. "An' you'll call too, right?"

"Every week," Sara promised. "At least. And you can call me any time you like."

Kimmy nodded. "Dad says I can have a cellphone when we move," she said, looking happier. "I can send you text messages."

Sara laughed. "There you go." The faint sound of a buzzer bell reached them, and she sobered. "School's starting, kiddo."

"I know." Kimmy sighed. "G'bye, Aunt Sara."

She leaned over and kissed Sara's cheek. Sara swallowed hard and kissed her back on the forehead, and then Kimmy was climbing out of the car and reaching into the back for her bag.

Sara watched her jog down the sidewalk and disappear into the building with a few other children; Kimmy didn't look back.

Sara bit her lip, then put on her seatbelt and started the engine.

Two hours later she and Ed were walking into what Joey referred to as "the swoop airport" due to the curve of its roof. Sara grinned at her brother, unable to resist teasing him a little. "You could have just dropped me off, you know."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed back. "Besides, after you get through Security I'm gonna get a couple of Cinnabons and eat them all…by…myself."

The comic greed on his face made Sara laugh out loud. Her entire family shared a passion for the gooey pastries, but Ed usually ended up losing most of his to his offspring. "If you get sick, I don't want to hear about it."

He snorted at her as they joined the check-in line. "Okay, remind me--the car guy is coming tomorrow?"

"Yep, he should be there at ten a.m. That reminds me." Sara dug in her pants pocket for her keychain, and removed her car keys before handing the rest to Ed. "You've still got the spare Mercedes set in the kitchen drawer. This one--" she pointed-- "is the one to Grissom's place, so you can just toss it."

"Got it." Ed put them into his own pocket. Sara was having the Mercedes shipped to Las Vegas; the service was outrageously expensive, but she didn't want to give up her car and she didn't have time to drive it herself. "You'll be lucky if I don't just have him take the minivan instead."

Sara snickered and nudged him with one elbow. "That'll work up until you have to take both kids somewhere."

They chatted lightly as the line edged forward. Sara was torn between the sadness of leaving Ed behind, and the deep, electric delight of going back to Vegas, to Grissom; the emotions created a sort of balance within her, neither taking over for the moment.

Finally her ticket was validated and her bag checked; Ed walked with her over to the security gate. There was no line, for a change, so Sara slung her satchel behind her and hugged him hard. Ed's arms went around her tightly; for someone so bony, he was a good hugger.

"You call if you need anything," Sara said sternly, trying not to sniffle. "Promise."

"Only if you do too," he answered in the vicinity of her ear, and she nodded against his shoulder.

They let each other go, and Sara could see that Ed's eyes were a little red, though he was smiling. "Take care of yourself. And him."

"I will. Be happy, Ed. I'll see you in a few months."

She spun away and strode into the Security area, turning back just before she passed through the gate. Ed waved wildly, and she lifted a hand in return; and then he was gone.

**See Chapter 28**


	28. Chapter 28

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

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Greg knocked on the doorframe of Grissom's office, looking inquiring. "Hey, Griss, you wanted me here early?"

"Ah. Greg, I need you to do me a favor. I've got a consultant coming in tonight at McCarran, and I don't have time to go pick her up," Grissom said briskly, stacking papers. "Can you pass your case off to Betty and meet her for me? I've already cleared it with Abdul."

Greg hesitated for a moment, possibly debating why Grissom was asking him rather than Gen, who was technically the newbie for all she'd been there over a year. But then he shrugged. "Sure, no problem. What time?"

Grissom glanced at his watch. "She's landing in about an hour, which should just give you time to get there. Here."

He picked up a long piece of thin cardboard from his desk, uncapped a black marker, and scrawled a name on it in large printing. "Wait for her at the Southwest security gate; she'll find you."

Greg took the sign. "Gotcha."

"Bring her straight to the lab. And Greg--do not use the flashers. If you're late getting there, you're late."

He gave his former CSI a mildly stern look; Greg returned a cheeky grin, one that Grissom suddenly realized he had missed. "You got it, ex-boss."

**xxxx**

Sara hauled her satchel a little higher on her shoulder and dodged around a family with three kids. Grissom had said he'd send someone to meet her, a tacit signal that they were no longer hiding anything, and she was quite curious as to who he'd picked. _One of his new team--this could be awkward. Or maybe fun..._

Then she saw him, his height and hair impossible to miss. Greg stood near the security exit with three other men, all of them holding signs; when she read Greg's, it was all she could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Instead, she grinned hard, and decided to see if she could sneak up on him.

Given how bored he looked, it wasn't hard. Sara came up on his left side, leaning up to kiss his cheek before he quite knew she was there. "Hey, Greggo!"

Greg jumped and recoiled, eyes wide, and then a huge smile spread over his face as he recognized her. "_Sara!_"

She was instantly wrapped in a hug powerful enough to belie Greg's wiriness. Sara laughed as she returned it, delighted to see her old buddy again after so long. "It's good to see you, Greg."

Greg let her go long enough to hold her out in front of him for a look, then hugged her again. "What are you doing here? Did you come back to stay? Why didn't you _call?_"

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Sara said, still laughing, and managed to pull free. On impulse, she decided to string him along a bit. "I'm here to see the Vegas Bureau branch."

"I can't believe I ran into you! Can you believe this? Grissom sent me out here to pick someone up, what're the odds?" He looked down at the slightly mangled sign. "Oh crap, I hope she didn't just walk right by me."

Sara smirked. Slowly, she reached out and took the sign from Greg's hands, and held it out in front of her like a label. Greg's forehead wrinkled as he stared at her, eyes dropping to the name "Lisa Darse".

It took him about five seconds, and Sara could see the wheels turning in his head the whole time. Then his jaw dropped open and he started sputtering.

Since nothing coherent was emerging, Sara took his arm and dragged him out of the traffic and into a somewhat quieter corner. Greg's eyes looked like they were about to leave his skull, and all he could say was "But you--he--but--how--"

Sara leaned against the wall and waited. Eventually Greg calmed down enough to fix her with a glare and demand "How long?"

"Since August." She let him figure that out as well.

Greg smacked his own head with a comic flourish. "I don't _believe_ it. All this time, and we never even--I mean, I knew he was there, but--"

She snickered, hoping that he wouldn't be angry. "Gotcha."

Abruptly she was swept into another hug, this one a little gentler. "You _bitch_," Greg said happily. "You had me so going with your description! A smart funny scientist, huh?" He let her go, grinning again. "I am supremo happy to hear this."

Sara pursed her lips, highly amused. "Actually, Greg, I haven't admitted to a thing."

His eyeroll was eloquent. "Uh-huh. The Bugman sends me to get you and that doesn't mean anything? Pull the other one."

Sara pushed away from the wall. "Okay, okay. Let's walk while we talk, huh? I'm tired and hungry and I really need a restroom."

"This way, milady." Greg shook his head as they started walking. "So, you and Grissom finally, huh?"

She shrugged, and he poked her lightly. "Come on, Sidle, I'm your ride. At least give me the edge on the gossip."

Sara glanced over at Greg, and while his face was lit with fun, she could see the kindness in his eyes. She poked him back on principle. "Look, I don't know what Grissom has in mind, but I don't think he'll mind if you spread the news as long as you don't run up and down the lab hallway shouting about it."

"Cool." He rubbed his hands together in glee, and Sara was glad to see that he hadn't really changed that much. His hair was still...unusual, and he still had that sense of fun that made him good, and occasionally exasperating, to work with. "You didn't tell anybody you were coming?"

"Nope." Spotting the correct sign, she veered away across the corridor. "Be right back."

A few minutes later, refreshed, she found Greg leaning against the wall near the bathroom entrance, talking animatedly on his phone. When she appeared, however, he bid a hasty goodbye and closed it.

"Who was that?" Sara asked. Greg shook his head again.

"None of your business, Miss FBI. Ready to go?"

"I have to pick up my suitcase." They strolled towards the baggage claim area, Greg trying briefly to carry her satchel for her but giving up after a short tussle, and chatted about the lab. Sara did let him take her suitcase, which left him beaming as he pulled it along behind them.

"So you're thinking of transferring to Vegas?" he asked, looking so hopeful that Sara hadn't the heart to keep leading him on.

"I've already transferred," she admitted. "I start there next week."

The whoop and subsequent hug were enough to leave Sara laughing. "Enough, Greg! I didn't know you missed me that much."

"It hasn't been the same since you left," Greg admitted, sobering a little. "Though if Grissom was with you the whole time, that explains why he looks so much better now."

Sara's humor disappeared as she remembered Greg's words months before. _He was fading. Really slow._

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" she asked, but Greg's mouth twisted unhappily.

"Sara...it kinda was."

She fought a surge of guilt. She'd done what she had to do, and Grissom's life, at that time, had been his own concern.

"A couple of the techs actually took bets on how long he was going to last, at least until Catherine found out." A little amusement returned to his face. "That was fun to watch--she actually chased them out of the lab. And besides, he looks like he's fine now."

"Mm." Sara wrenched her mind away from that train of thought. "So have you got Hodges back for the last trick?"

That started Greg off on a string of stories that kept them both laughing until he pulled the SUV into a lab parking space. The building looked just the same to Sara, and it was a distinctly odd feeling to walk into it as though she'd never left.

The receptionist was someone she didn't recognize, but the young man acceded pleasantly when Greg left her bags behind the counter, and promised the CSI that he would keep an eye on them. "What happened to Judy?" Sara asked _sotto voce_ as they headed towards Grissom's office.

"Nothing, she just switched jobs. She's working as a legal secretary now." Greg shrugged. "She said the dark side paid better."

Sara snorted, commiserating. "Working for the county won't make you rich."

Grissom's office door was open when they reached it, and Sara didn't try to keep back the smile when she saw him sitting behind his desk, going through a file. It felt very strange for a moment, as though time had telescoped, but she wasn't the woman who had once hovered wistfully in his doorway, and he wasn't the man who had hesitated so long.

Then Grissom looked up, and one of his rare full grins spread over his face as he saw her. Without hesitation he laid down the file and stood, and Sara didn't wait in the doorway; they met as he came around the desk, and the kiss they shared satisfied her as nothing had since he'd left.

The soft chuckle and the sound of the door closing behind her proved that Greg had learned discretion.

Sara was as reluctant to move from the circle of Grissom's arms as he was to let her go, and when their kiss ended they stayed put for a moment, feeling the ache of separation slowly fade. Sara tucked her head down in the crook of Grissom's neck, and felt him rub his cheek against her hair and sigh with the same relief she was feeling.

"I missed you," she muttered eventually, and his arms closed a little tighter.

"Sara," he whispered; just her name, but it was enough.

**x**

Part of Grissom kept expecting to wake up.

It wasn't as though the past eight months felt like a dream; no, they were solid and sweet in his palm, like a sun-warmed apple. But having what he'd so long wanted, in the place where he'd never dared to take it, was oddly disorienting, his old situation contending with his new self.

_I'll take it_. He watched Sara poke at his shelves of specimens, her eternal curiosity coming out as she answered his questions about her flight. "This is new," she said, holding up a severed hand, heavy in its preserving jar.

"Someone gave it to me," he said, straight-faced, and she glared at him without force, her lips twitching.

"For a job well done? Sounds pretty Zen to me, Gil."

He chuckled, and she replaced the jar, smiling. "Are you working all through tonight? I can get a cab--"

"Certainly not," Grissom said lightly. "I'm just here because I had to finish a report this evening; we can go home as soon as I drop it off. Or--" He cocked his head, catching the sound of a familiar voice. "After your public is satisfied."

Sara blinked. "My public?"

He nodded at the door. "You know Greg…did you really think he wasn't going to spill the beans?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Dammit, I knew I should have made him tell me who he was calling."

Grissom, smirking a little, glanced out through the half-open blinds of his window, then opened the door and stood aside. His timing was perfect; Nick came through it at a fast stride, and immediately enveloped Sara in a bearhug. She squawked, but managed to embrace him in turn. "Nice to see you too, Stokes!"

Nick laughed, almost lifting her off her feet. "Damn, Sara, it has been _way _too long!"

Grissom watched, amused, as Nick assured Sara she had been missed, and as Warrick and Greg came in behind him. Sara peeled Nick off and exchanged a gentler hug with Warrick; Greg simply leaned against a shelf and grinned.

Sara's face was faintly flushed, and her eyes danced as Jacquie came in to swell the impromptu reunion. Grissom stood by the door and listened to the mingled voices, enjoying Sara's pleasure in seeing her friends again but regretting the circumstances that had kept her from visiting before. _If I hadn't been an idiot, she could have come back without fear of running into me. _

_But then, if I hadn't been an idiot, she wouldn't have left in the first place._

Before his mood slipped, however, Sara glanced past Nick's shoulder and gave him an amused wink, and Grissom smiled back as Warrick sauntered over to him.

"Congrats, man," the younger CSI said in a low voice, folding his arms. "How long?"

Grissom shrugged, not quite sure how to pinpoint the moment when he and Sara had truly come together. The aftermath of their fight? Christmas? That first kiss in the snow? "Not long enough."

"I hear ya." Warrick watched Sara for a moment. "She looks good."

"The Bureau suits her," Grissom agreed, not mentioning the other factors in Sara's life.

Another figure appeared in the doorway, halting abruptly at the sight of all the people crowded into the office. "Ah…did I miss a memo?"

Grissom stepped forward. "Sorry, Abdul. We'll take this to the breakroom."

His successor scanned the gathering, a smile lightening his somewhat saturnine face. "No, that's okay; I just came in to pick up a file. And collect Sanders, since he's back."

Greg drooped in exaggerated disappointment. Grissom shook his head. "Sara, this is Abdul Rahman, who leads the night shift. Abdul, Sara Sidle."

Sara stepped forward and held out a hand, smiling, and as Abdul took it, Grissom's stomach twisted a little, Catherine's words about Abdul's looks resurfacing. But Sara's gaze met the younger man's with only polite interest, and Grissom relaxed. _Get a grip,_ he advised himself wryly. _You know damn well that once Sara's mind is made up, it doesn't change._

"A pleasure, Ms. Sidle. I've heard a lot about you," Abdul said, still smiling, and Sara snorted.

"I'll bet." She glanced over at the shelves. "_Greg._"

"Who, me? Just preserving the legend, oh Great One." Greg laid a hand on his heart, then ducked as Jacquie poked him. "What?"

Grissom let out an amused breath. "Okay, everybody out. Some of us have work to do."

Abdul took Greg and Jacquie with him as he left, file in hand; Nick and Warrick lingered. "Want to go get a drink or something and catch up?" Nick suggested, looking at both Grissom and Sara.

She shook her head. "Sounds great, Nick, but it's late for me; I'm still running three hours ahead. Rain check?"

"Sure thing." Both men hugged her again before departing, and Grissom took his jacket from the coatrack near the door.

"Ready to go?" he asked softly.

Sara had a gentle smile on her face, and she watched the two vanish around the corner before turning to Grissom. "Absolutely."

They walked out of the lab together, again an echo of earlier times, though no case called them now. Sara stopped to pick up her bags at Reception, and Grissom took the larger one as they exited.

"I'm sorry," he said, touching her arm to guide her towards his car. "I didn't realize you were so tired."

She shot him a mischievous look. "I slept on the plane, actually. I'd love to spend some time with them soon, but first I want to spend time with _you._"

He took her hand, unable to stop himself, and reveled in the quick curl of her fingers around his.

Bringing her home was almost exactly like his daydream, except that it was nighttime and the windows were dark instead of flooding the house with light. He held the door for her, watched her step inside and look around the airy space, saw the small smile on her lips. He held his breath as she surveyed the big main room, irrationally afraid that she would reject it; then she set her satchel down next to the couch and kicked off her shoes, and he exhaled in relief.

Locking the door behind them, he parked her suitcase and took off his jacket, ready to begin their life.

**x**

_I never really thought this would happen._ Sara had been in Grissom's house before, during the short period when he'd been suspended from the lab, but it had been all business then, if ostensibly unofficial. She'd daydreamed about being welcome in his townhouse, but over time the idea of actually living there went from a rather hazy vision to something that seemed completely impossible.

_Well, three years ago a lot of things seemed pretty impossible._ She stood next the couch, noting that Grissom had replaced the miserable excuse for a sofa he'd had before, and stretched, unkinking her spine after a long day of cramped plane seats.

As she released the stretch, warm hands landed on her shoulders and kneaded gently, and she leaned back into them, purring. "I'm glad you're here," Grissom said softly.

"So am I." Sara sighed happily as his arms came around her waist, pulling her back into his embrace. Grissom aligned their bodies, almost as though he wanted to absorb her, and placed a kiss on her temple; Sara relaxed against him, and they stood for a while, just enjoying each other. But finally she pulled away. "Okay, give me a tour."

Grissom laughed, and did.

She'd seen the kitchen and bathroom before, and the stretch of hall between, but nothing else. Grissom led her down the hallway and pushed open the first door, revealing his home office, which was mostly filing cabinets and bookcases. A small desk took up most of one wall. "Half the time I work at the big table anyway," Grissom admitted, shrugging at the slight clutter. "This is more to keep the papers out of the living room."

"Gotcha," Sara said. The books and journals on the shelves looked enticing, but she could always come back to them.

The second door opened to an empty room, slightly larger than the one he'd just shown her. "This is yours," Grissom told her, and an unexpected lump rose in her throat as she realized that he'd cleaned it out ahead of time. "We can do whatever you like with it."

"Cool," Sara answered, stepping inside to glance at the small closet. _What is your problem?_ she scolded herself. _He **said** he was going to empty it for you._

But that was just it--Grissom had not only opened his house to her, he had prepared for her coming. _He does want this. He really, really does._

For some reason, it felt all the more real.

Blinking, she wrestled her emotions under control, and turned back to him with a smile. "It's perfect, Gil, thanks."

His slightly anxious look faded as he smiled back and held out a hand. "C'mon, I'll show you the rest."

There wasn't much more; the hall bath she had seen. The master bath had an exit into the hallway, but Grissom led her into the bedroom first. Sara took it in, the cool colors and masculine austerity, and then had to laugh at the sight of her stuffed pink lizard sitting proudly on the large bed. It was the perfect touch; the toy all but glowed against the tidy navy bedspread, its slightly aggrieved expression adding just the right touch of absurdity. She walked over and picked it up.

"You pulled Bob out of storage? Sweet!"

Grissom flushed a little, and smiled at her. "I would have done more, but I wasn't sure where you wanted things."

"We'll figure it out," Sara answered, unconcerned, and put the lizard back down. However he felt, Grissom wasn't used to sharing his space, and she didn't want to overwhelm him. _Besides…we have all the time in the world._

The master bath was spacious, and Sara approved of the blue-green color scheme, which soothed the eye. "There's a linen closet in here--and let me show you the big one," Grissom said cheerfully. Sara followed him back into the bedroom, where the walk-in closet was revealed to be two-thirds empty. She shook her head at it, amused.

"Gil, how many clothes do you think I _have_? I'd need maybe half that space."

Grissom shrugged, his ears turning a little pink. "I didn't use most of it myself," he admitted. "I just kind of compressed things." He gestured as though pushing things together, looking altogether adorable, and Sara decided something on the spot.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, pulling off her jacket.

"No, but I can fix you something--" Grissom began. Sara shook her head, and stepped into the closet to hang her jacket neatly on a hanger.

"Do you have anything that needs doing right now?"

He gave her a somewhat baffled look. "Just bringing your suitcase in here."

Sara returned a slow smile. "Good. It can wait."

She pounced.

"Are you sure you're not tired?" he asked breathlessly a few minutes later. Sara looked up at him quizzically, part of her appreciating the firmness of the mattress beneath her and the rest of her appreciating the look of a mussed and aroused Grissom leaning over her.

"Do you have any evidence that I am?"

He smirked, and slid his hands under her shirt. "Just checking."

A few minutes later, Bob tumbled to the floor, ignored.

**See Chapter 29**


	29. Chapter 29

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Dawn teased her awake. Sara blinked at the early light coming in the unshaded window, and stretched carefully, aware of Grissom asleep next to her.

She shivered pleasurably under the warmth of the blankets; she didn't usually sleep nude, but drowsiness had overtaken them both after their overdue reunion, and she had been too tired--and too unwilling to leave the absolute comfort of Grissom--to dig through her suitcase or his closet for something to wear.

Sara rolled over to look at him. Grissom tended to either wrap himself around her or sleep sprawled, which she thought was an interesting contrast for someone so self-contained when awake. This morning he was spread out over more than half the bed, one arm up over his head and the other where her head had been. Stubble was coming in on his cheeks above his beard, and he was snoring very quietly.

Her heart swelled, and she almost kissed him awake, morning breath not withstanding. But he still had shadows under his eyes, and she herself was hungry and dying for a shower.

So Sara slipped out of the big bed, stretching again and appreciating the mattress more and more--her back didn't ache. The carpet underfoot was a light grey-blue, and wonderfully thick; she dug her toes into it appreciatively and looked around, prodding her memory awake.

Grissom's robe was right where she remembered seeing it, hung on the inside of the bathroom door. She wrapped it around her, enjoying the smell of him rising from the terrycloth, and belted it tightly to keep its folds under control before venturing out of the bedroom.

Despite Grissom's tour the night before, Sara still felt like a guest as she walked into the big main room, but she figured it was only natural. It was Grissom's space, after all, and it would take time and patience on both their parts to make it _their_ space.

But, as she stood and looked around, the realization that not only was she welcome in Grissom's home, but she actually _lived _there now, made her shiver again, with a sort of half-frightened delight.

_Gil's house. Our house. Our...home._

His coffee machine was top-of-the-line; it took Sara a few minutes to figure out how to circumvent its programing and start a pot. It was apparently set to brew in the late afternoon, which made sense given Grissom's schedule; the only reason Sara figured he was still asleep, after sleeping through half of his regular shift, was that he was still tired from getting Rosalie settled. His face had been more drawn than she liked when she'd first seen him the night before, but Sara hadn't said anything; there were more important things to discuss at the time.

Now she pressed the button to start the machine and went to fetch her suitcase, feeling determined. _It's about time for him to take better care of himself. He needs someone to keep an eye on him._

It wasn't until she was halfway down the hall, arms full of clothes and toiletries, that she realized fully that it would be _she_ who would watch over him. Shaking her head in bemused delight, Sara went to clean up.

Grissom's bath was quite big enough for two, which Sara approved of, but she just took a quick shower, finding fresh towels in the linen closet and room to put her shampoo bottle next to his. The room was spacious, its fan quiet; there was an empty towel rack next to a full one, and Sara hung the towel she'd used on that, then took a closer look. What she saw made her bite her lip in a sudden, absurd surge of pleasure.

Unlike the full one next to it, the empty rack was newly installed, a tiny smear of plaster dust showing that the screws had been put in only recently. _He set this up for me._

The sun had more than cleared the horizon by the time Sara returned to the kitchen, barefoot but clothed. She'd combed out her hair but hadn't dried it, not wanting to wake Grissom with the whir of a hair dryer, and the townhouse was just warm enough that she wasn't getting chilly.

The coffee was ready; Sara took a mug from the dish drainer poured herself a cup, and found not only cream in the refrigerator but a variety of other things that showed that Grissom had been preparing for her there too. _Either that, or he's discovered a sudden passion for bean sprouts. _

_I don't think so._

Sara doctored her coffee and put the cream away, unable to suppress a wondering smile. Everywhere she turned, it seemed, there was more evidence that Grissom wanted her in his space. And while she didn't doubt that he did want her, it was tremendously reassuring to see that he'd _thought_ about it.

The big sliding door to the backyard drew Sara's eye as she sipped her drink; Grissom had omitted it the night before, when it was just a square of blackened glass, but now Sara walked over to look out at the dawn-lit world. Grissom's back yard was small and fenced, no doubt the same measly allotment that the other townhouses in his complex had, but it was as neat as his pocket-sized front lawn and much more suited to the climate. There was some grass, but most of it was xeriscaped, with what looked like a simple rock garden, and there was a large shed against the back right corner. On impulse, she flipped the latch on the door and slid it open.

An ear-splitting siren assaulted her ears. Startled, Sara nearly dropped her coffee, and yanked the door closed, but the noise didn't let up. _Damn! I didn't know he had the place alarmed--_

She looked frantically around for a keypad, finding it at last half-hidden by the drawn curtain, but the display demanded a code. Sara swore under her breath. _I have no idea--_

Before she could panic further, an arm reached past her and punched five numbers into the keypad. The noise shut off abruptly, and thick silence rushed in to fill the space.

Sara stared down at her mug, feeling her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Waking Grissom out of a sound sleep because she'd been too careless to check for an alarm system was hardly an auspicious beginning to their life together.

"Sara--" Grissom started behind her, his voice rough with sleep, and she lifted her chin and turned.

"I'm sorry," she said, overriding whatever he'd been about to say. "That was stupid of me. I should have known you would have an alarm system."

Grissom was rumpled and adorable, wearing nothing but yesterday's pair of slacks, his eyes still narrow with sleep. He ran a hand over his beard, blinking. "Sara, I didn't even mention it, how were you supposed to know?"

She opened her mouth, and then realized that she didn't have a good answer. If there were a keypad next to his front door, Grissom hadn't touched it when he'd let them in last night.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," he went on, his expression rueful. "I should have told you about it as soon as we got home. But using the remote on my keychain is so automatic I don't even think about it any more."

Sara shook her head, pursing her lips in a small smile. "Well. Want to start over?"

Grissom looked confused. "Sorry?"

Sara set her mug down on the counter nearby, then put her hands on his bare shoulders and pulled him into a warm kiss. A second of resistance on his part melted, and she felt his own hands land on her hips, then slide around to the small of her back. "Good morning," she murmured when their lips parted.

Grissom expression was a little dazed...but very pleased. "A very good morning to you, Ms. Sidle." He raised a brow. "I see you found the coffee."

Sara wasn't sure if sight was quite the sense involved, but she didn't argue. "It wasn't hard." She stepped out of Grissom's arms and picked up her mug again, offering it to him, and he took a swallow before handing it back. "I was just going to look around outside."

Grissom pulled the door open, letting in the cool sweet air of early morning. "The code is 28635," he said, stepping out onto the small patio and holding out a hand to Sara. "I'll order you a remote today."

Sara stepped down to join him. The cement was chilly and slightly rough beneath her feet, and she breathed deeply of the Nevada air, enjoying the familiarity of it. Grissom's patio held one rather battered, sturdy lawn chair and a small table; Sara realized that he probably had an excellent view of sunsets from that angle.

"The shed is mostly for insects," Grissom added, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I've started a new set of racing roaches."

Sara took a closer look at the small building and realized that it had an air-conditioning unit on one side. "You don't keep them in the house?"

Grissom shrugged. "The tarantulas, yes, when I have them, but not crickets or cockroaches. The latter smell, and the former tend to...escape." One corner of his mouth turned up. "Out here, the native wildlife finishes them off in short order. If they escape in the house, I have to listen to them singing between the walls for a month."

Sara snickered at the image, and took another sip of coffee. "You should go back to sleep," she told him. "I know you're still tired, and you have to work tonight."

Grissom shook his head. "I have tonight off," he countered, and took one hand out of his pocket to stroke a tendril of damp hair away from her forehead. The tender, familiar touch made her breath catch. "I just want to spend the day with you."

**x**

Grissom found himself smiling at odd moments throughout the day, without conscious thought behind the expressions. It was a wonderful feeling to see his fantasy unfolding before his eyes.

He'd had the pleasure of making Sara breakfast, something he'd often envisioned without hope of actually seeing it come true, and then they had begun bringing in boxes from the garage and unpacking them. Her clothes were swiftly dealt with, now all hanging neatly in the closet or folded into the drawers of the small antique dresser she'd picked up in San Francisco. It didn't match Grissom's own larger, blockier dresser, but somehow it managed to harmonize with the room nonetheless.

Her little writing desk and the boxes of books went into the empty room for the moment; the carved wooden screen fit naturally into one corner of the living room; and at Grissom's urging Sara consented to hang a couple of her framed photographs, though she said firmly that the rest could wait until she was more settled in.

"What happened to your round lamp?" he asked as they stacked more boxes in the empty room's closet. "I didn't see it."

Sara's mouth twisted. "Joey," she said without rancor. "He was four years old and wanted to see how it was put together."

He grimaced in amused sympathy. "Ouch."

She shrugged, and bent to shove a box into place. "It was starting to fall apart anyway; those wicker things were nice, but they didn't last that long." She straightened and redid her ponytail, a move that made her shirt ride up, and Grissom found his attention momentarily riveted on her bellybutton. "I picked up the whole set at a yard sale during college, they were a pretty good bargain."

She snickered and stepped out of the closet. "I was lucky my roommate didn't make off with them, but then she had this huge monstrosity of a lamp made out of wrought iron and stained glass…"

Grissom set down his box and tried to picture Sara in college--a Sara younger, more carefree, haphazardly furnishing a dorm room with a friend with different tastes. "Do you have any photos?" he asked suddenly.

Sara looked at him quizzically, but to his fascination a faint pink appeared on her cheeks. "You want to see my college pictures?"

He gave her his best grin. "I'd love to see any photos of you at all, but yes."

She pursed her lips, obviously thinking, then shrugged again. "Why not?"

Sara led him back to the garage; most of the remaining boxes, she had declared, could go in his storage unit, as they contained nothing she needed to have immediately on hand. But she sliced open the tape on one and fished in it for a moment, finally coming up with a rather battered shoebox that she handed over her shoulder to Grissom. "There you go."

He lifted the lid; it contained a jumble of photographs in no discernible order, some with pinholes in the corners. "We need better light," he said.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me--you want commentary."

Grissom simply looked at her, letting his amusement show, and after a moment she gave in. "Okay, okay."

They ended up on the couch, Sara lifting the photos out one by one and sometimes flipping them over to see if they had anything written on the back. "Kaye and Rica and Eileen," she explained, handing Grissom one of herself and three other young women, arms around each other and laughing at the camera. "We were _so_ much trouble, freshman year."

Looking at the intelligence sparkling in the mischievous faces, Grissom could well believe it.

Sara went through the whole box, skipping doubles and the occasional mistake shot, and Grissom got his glimpse of Sara almost twenty years in the past--a curly-headed girl-woman even thinner than she was in the present, with a smile that was sometimes nervous, and often with a book in her hand. He got the feeling that while she had enjoyed college, and had found a congenial group of friends, she had still spent a large part of that time alone--only partly by choice.

When she was finished, the box was empty and the coffee table in front of the couch was covered with neat piles, pictures sorted by subject or event. Sara lifted one to put it away, but Grissom laid a hand on her wrist. "I think I have an empty album somewhere."

"Gil--" she protested, but he cocked his head.

"Don't you think Kimmy and Joseph would like to see them?"

She huffed, but set the photos back down. "Maybe. After a little judicious editing."

"Oh, come on," he teased. "Don't you think they should see the one of you asleep at your desk?"

"And drooling? They'd never let me live that one down." Sara snickered, and tossed a blurred photo into the box.

"I didn't see any boyfriends in there," Grissom commented, trying to keep it casual. It wasn't that he was jealous--this was far in Sara's past, after all--but he couldn't help remembering the TA she'd mentioned years before.

"That's because I tore up those afterwards," Sara replied tartly. "I never was any good at relationships, and it showed."

"Sara--" he started, reacting to the hint of old pain even though he had no idea what he was going to say, but she shook her head, and took his hands in hers, looking down at his fingers and lightly rubbing her thumbs over them.

"Gil, either I screwed up my relationships or they screwed me over. It hurt every time. But at this point I still wouldn't go back and change any of them, because their failures got me here."

Sara's tone was matter-of-fact, but her hands were trembling very slightly, and Grissom swallowed hard. _After all I've put her through, all the years of denial--_

She squeezed his fingers gently. "Sometimes the last really is the best."

"And when you've found what you want, you stop looking." His voice was hoarse, but Grissom didn't care. He curled his fingers around Sara's and lifted them to his face, kissing the fingertips with reverence. "I love you."

She made a sound that was partway between a laugh and a sob, and leaned forward until their mouths met.

**x**

His heartbeat under her ear was deeply comforting. Sara lay in Grissom's arms, reflecting that it was a good thing that he had replaced the loveseat with something larger and softer; it had just enough room. She shivered slightly, ebbing pleasure still tingling along her nerves, and Grissom stirred.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice drowsy; Sara shook her head, and his hand ghosted over her hair before resuming his hug.

The photos had brought back memories. Old friends, teachers, events passed by Sara's inner eye, their accompanying emotions mostly faded to an overall sense of nostalgia. The people she'd studied with, the professors she'd admired, the boyfriend who'd used her and the one who had eventually bored her…they belonged to another time.

_That's how the mind works, thank God._ More recent years were sharper, with some memories carefully preserved--her first day on the job in San Francisco, verbally defeating a particularly annoying defense attorney in court, Ed's wedding, the wry smile on Grissom's face when she'd found him dropping dummies off a roof…

Sara blinked, feeling Grissom's chest rise and fall under her own. Their relationship stretched back over more than a decade, and so much of it had been painful in one way or another. But the last eight months had worked an alchemy, transmuting the hurt into something gentler; the long ache had eased, leaving her able to forgive him and accept the belated gift of his heart.

_I hope I'm up to this. I don't want to screw **this**_ _one up. _

But the worry was weaker than it had been. Grissom was committed--the very fact that she was lying in his arms, in his _house,_ was proof enough. _And I'm not the person I was even five years ago. _

Her thoughts were diverted as Grissom's stomach rumbled. She couldn't help grinning, and he chuckled, shifting under her. "Sorry."

Sara sat up, snagging her shirt from the back of the couch and pulling it on. "I guess it's lunchtime."

Grissom made them grilled cheese sandwiches, and they finished sorting through Sara's stuff, deciding the last of what would stay and what would go into storage. They were loading boxes into the Mercedes' trunk when a familiar amusement-laced voice made them both look up.

"Hey, I may have been off last night, but does that mean I don't rate a phone call?"

Sara blinked at the man standing on the edge of Grissom's tiny front lawn, and let her grin take over before she ran five steps to hug him soundly. Brass, unusually casual in jeans and a polo shirt, returned the hug, almost lifting her off her feet and laughing in her ear. "Hey, hey, take it easy--I'm an old man here!"

Sara scoffed as she let him go. It had been Brass who had dropped her off at the airport when she'd left Las Vegas, his silent understanding far more bearable than her other friends' regret, and she was delighted to see him again. "Oh please. I was going to call you, I just figured you were still asleep."

He snorted, and looped his arm through hers, walking the few steps to where Grissom leaned against the car. "Are you kidding? The minute I set foot in the lab this morning, Sanders was breathing down my neck to tell me you're back. What did you do, force-feed him sugar on the way in from the airport?"

Sara snickered at the thought. Brass was smiling at his old friend, looking knowing; Grissom merely gave him a tolerant look in return. "Greg's enthusiasm doesn't require a chemical boost." He glanced over at Sara and lifted his brows. The old synchronicity was firmly in place; she knew exactly what he was asking, and nodded.

Grissom looked back to Brass. "We're about to drop some stuff off at the storage unit, Jim, but would you like to join us for dinner afterwards?"

The police captain grinned back. "Don't have to ask me twice."

He followed them to the self-storage unit in his own car and helped them move the boxes inside before taking control of the evening and insisting on a quiet Italian restaurant some distance from the strip. "Now," he ordered, when they had decided on their choices and had drinks in their hands. "Details."

Sara traded an amused glance with Grissom, and complied.

They were halfway through dinner by the time they had finished filling Brass in. He was silent a moment, apparently savoring a sip of the wine they'd ordered, then set down his glass. "You, my friend--" he pointed at Grissom. "--Are luckier than any SOB deserves."

"I know," Grissom answered simply. Sara slid her hand over his where it rested on the table, and he turned it so that their fingers could mesh. Brass smiled at the sight.

"Good. You've been taking good care of him, Sara." He leaned back in his chair. "But does this mean no more Thursday morning poker at your place, Gil?"

Sara burst out laughing at his smirk, and Grissom rolled his eyes.

The talk turned to recent cases and the difficulty of dealing with neophytes in both branches of law enforcement, and they chatted easily through dessert and coffee. Grissom won the fight over the check, and finally Brass glanced at his watch. "I hate to break up the party, but I need to go home and change clothes before work. You'll be in tomorrow night, Gil?"

"Unless something unusual comes up before then, yes."

Brass grunted as he stood up. "Let's hope there's no collection of left feet in tackle boxes tonight, then." Sara shot him a disbelieving look, and he smirked. "Oh yeah. Get him to tell you about that one, doll. I'm still wondering what the guy did with the rights."

He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Glad you're back, Sara. You've got more guts than anyone I know." And he was gone.

Sara shook her head. "He doesn't change," she commented softly, and Grissom nodded.

"He's a remarkable man." He squeezed her hand lightly. "Want to go for a walk?"

They wandered for a while through the quiet streets near the restaurant, hand in hand, just enjoying the cooling air and the time spent together. Sara reflected with some amusement that normally spending an entire day with someone else would leave her yearning for a little solitude, but being with Grissom seemed to circumvent that urge. _I'm sure we'll want some time alone eventually. But for now--_

"Are you glad to be back?" she asked him at last.

Grissom tilted his head. "I am," he said thoughtfully. "I've always enjoyed my work here. It's a fascinating city." He pulled her arm through his. "What about you?"

"Ask me in a week," she teased him, and he laughed.

Eventually they wove their way back to his car, and Grissom opened the passenger door for her, leaning down as she settled into the seat.

"Ready to go home?" he asked softly.

Sara smiled, and lifted a hand to his cheek. "Oh yeah."

**See Chapter 30**


	30. Chapter 30

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Are you sure about this?" Sara asked in an undertone as they approached the restaurant.

Grissom shrugged, belying his own discomfort, but held her hand a little more tightly. "I'd rather spend the evening with you alone, but it'll be nice to see everyone at once."

Sara snickered a little, though her grip was as strong, and he knew she was nervous too. "Yeah, I guess. I'm still trying to figure out how we got talked into this."

Grissom reached forward to pull open the door for her, wondering a little himself. They'd been double-teamed, Greg calling Sara and Brass phoning Grissom, and before either of them quite realized it, they'd been talked into dinner with "everybody," as Greg put it. Grissom wasn't quite sure how many people that meant, and braced himself to walk into a mob.

But there were virtues in being early. Only Greg and Nick were sitting at the big private room table so far, looking a little lost among so many empty places. Both of them rose, grinning, as Grissom and Sara approached, and Grissom had to admit that it pleased him to see Sara so welcomed by her old friends. His spine relaxed a little as they found seats, Greg pulling Sara down into the end place next to his own chair with a laugh, and Nick rolling his eyes.

"Just how many people are coming to this...thing?" Sara asked as Grissom sat on her other side.

Greg started counting, holding up fingers. "You guys, us, Warrick, Cath, Bobby--"

"Brass, Jacquie, Archie...Hodges has a date, if you can believe that..." Nick put in.

"Doc Robbins, and we asked Judy but she had to work late tonight." Greg glanced over at Grissom, slightly apologetic. "We didn't ask the rest of Night because none of them know Sara."

Grissom shrugged, not upset by the exclusion, but before he could answer a waiter came by for drink orders. As the man left again, Sara shook her head. "Let's hope they all like Mexican."

"Hey, El Rosale's is primo food," Nick protested. "And if anyone doesn't, they can just eat chips and dip."

"The salsa here is almost a meal in itself," Grissom agreed.

"Pair it with a beer, and you're set," Warrick added, appearing behind Greg and leaning down to give Sara a quick hug before pulling out a chair next to Nick. "How're you guys doing?"

Sara laughed. "Fine. I've only been here two days and I'm already keeping sunscreen in my bag again."

Grissom glanced up as Greg teased Sara lightly about sunburn, and saw Catherine framed by the doorway, poised in the act of stepping inside. One hand was wrapped around the strap of her shoulderbag, and her eyes were a little wide, but she moved forward without hesitation. "Hey guys."

A peculiar tension hung in the air for a moment, but Sara broke it by standing and coming over to give Catherine a light hug. "Hey, Cath. It's good to see you again."

Grissom bit back a smile as the other men around the table breathed again. Apparently they hadn't been privy to the fact that Catherine had sent Sara a written apology not long after their blowup in the lab hallway, shortly after Sara left. _Be fair. **You** wouldn't know if Sara hadn't told you._

He doubted, watching them sit down, that the women had had further communication; Catherine seemed a bit wary, and Sara's smile was more polite than warm. But a few minutes of conversation seemed to relax them both, and eventually Catherine caught Grissom's eye and gave him a look that combined warm approval with more than a touch of smugness. Grissom, amused, simply gave her a wink back.

Catherine blinked, and next to her, Warrick chuckled.

The first round of drinks arrived, further orders were taken, and the conversation stayed light as more people trickled in. Sara kept standing up to greet people, though she gave only Robbins a hug, the older man beaming at the sight of her.

"You've been gone too long," he chided her gently, returning her embrace with one arm. "David will be sorry he missed you."

"I need to call him," Sara admitted, taking her seat once more.

"Is that everybody?" Greg asked, leaning forward to check that all the seats were filled. "Okay. Tell us!"

"Tell you what?" Sara asked, glancing around at all the attentive eyes.

"How you two got together," Catherine said, as if it were obvious. "We're all dying to know!"

Sara glanced at Grissom, and as their eyes met in amusement he knew they had the same thought. Her hand slid over his leg underneath the table as they turned back to their friends. "No," they both said.

The outrage was immediate, but through the babble Grissom saw both Robbins and Brass sitting back and watching the fuss.

"Oh, come on!" Catherine protested, her voice rising above the general complaint. "Gil, you disappear mysteriously for half a year, and come back with Sara--you have to tell us!"

"No, I don't," he returned, easily. "And I didn't 'come back' with her. She came on her own." He looked over at his lover, who smiled at him.

Catherine sputtered. Greg pointed at Sara. "I know you two met up when Grissom went east for a conference last summer," he said accusingly.

Sara shrugged. "That's true. We ran into each other in Pennsylvania."

"And...?" Nick encouraged when she said nothing more.

"And that's it," Grissom supplied. "I decided to spend my leave of absence on the East Coast, and...here we are."

Nick looked disbelieving and Warrick amused, but before anyone could press further, two long buffet carts were rolled into the room and the covers removed, and apparently everyone was too hungry to wait. As they lined up with their plates, Catherine leaned up to speak in Grissom's ear. "I'll get it out of you eventually, you know."

Sara, grinning, spoke up on the older woman's other side. "I don't think you will, Cath."

Catherine blushed.

The meal was long and merry; their friends gave up the pestering after a few more tries, and switched to teasing, which didn't bother Grissom. What mattered was that Sara was having a good time bantering with Warrick and joking with Archie, and he kept stealing glances at her happy face and bright eyes.

It took Grissom until halfway through the meal to realize that he was having a good time too.

Things finally wound down after dessert and coffee, people trickling away to prepare for work or sleep. Sara thanked the conspirators--Greg, Nick, and Warrick--with a hug each, and then they escaped into the cool night.

"That was fun," Sara said as they headed for Grissom's car. He put an arm around her waist.

"It was," he agreed. "I missed them."

Sara sighed, but it wasn't an unhappy sound. "So did I," she admitted. "How much time do you have?"

Grissom glanced at his watch. "About ninety minutes."

"Just enough time to go home and get changed, in other words." Sara laughed a little. "I'll feel like a slacker, all alone with nothing to do but read journals."

Grissom opened the car door for her. "You could sleep," he pointed out patiently.

"Oh, I will, eventually." She slid into the seat, and he shut the door.

**xxxx**

Sara wandered around the townhouse restlessly. Grissom had left for the lab, giving her a long kiss at the door that told her he probably wouldn't be putting in any overtime that shift, but Sara wasn't sleepy yet despite the big dinner.

_I could work on organizing my papers._ But the thought didn't really appeal. Sara wanted to repaint her little office room before she got set up in it. And nearly all her other things were in place already.

Finally she decided to put on some music, choosing an album of piano solos from Grissom's rather eclectic collection, and settled down cross-legged in front of his bookcases to investigate. There were the expected long rows of journals, there were the books on bugs and forensics, there was the complete set of Shakespeare, but Sara was intrigued to find a variety of classic fiction and some really obscure biographies. After a while spent paging through various volumes, she came back to herself to realize that the CD was finished and her legs were falling asleep.

Choosing two novels from the shelves, Sara rose and stretched and decided. She switched CDs, then went and rummaged in one of the boxes she'd stored in the walk-in closet, appreciating the fact that Grissom had installed speakers in his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, she stepped into the bathtub in the hall bathroom, shivering pleasurably as she slid down into the hot water that was cloudy with bath salts. She'd placed candles around the room and lit them, and she had Grissom's books to hand.

The muffled beep of her cellphone woke her from a half-daze. Frowning, Sara stood and wrapped herself in a towel, stepping out of the cooling water and walking out to the living room to find the device. It had stopped ringing by the time she got to it, but as she picked it up, the beep started again.

Sara glanced at the clock as she flipped it open, concerned. _It's one in the morning here, which makes it three in Virginia--_ "Ed?"

"Aunt Sara?" The trembling voice was definitely not Ed.

Sara pulled the towel a little tighter, alarmed. "Kimmy? What's the matter, kiddo?"

"I--I had a nightmare."

Sara let out her breath, relieved that no one was in the hospital. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry. Where are you?"

"In the kitchen. Daddy's asleep." Kimmy's tone was low, and Sara knew she didn't want to wake her father. Ed would be sympathetic, but for some reason Sara had always been Kimmy's choice when the black terror woke her.

Sara started walking towards the bedroom, feeling a little helpless. She couldn't offer a reassuring hug over the phone. _Think outside the box._ "I think I left one of my sweatshirts in the closet. Why don't you get that and put it on?" It would help with the psychic chill, at least.

"Okay." Sara could hear Kimmy moving, and the rustle as she pushed through the clothing in the closet. Sara took the opportunity to snag her own robe from the master bathroom; she'd forgotten it when preparing her bath.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Sara asked softly, knowing that Kimmy wouldn't have called in the middle of the night for anything less than a truly awful dream.

"I dreamed about the crash," Kimmy said, her voice still shaking a little, and Sara winced. Kimmy hadn't been in the car when the accident had happened, but she had seen it take place; Jenny had just dropped her daughter off at school. "I keep hearing it in my head, Aunt Sara."

"I know," Sara said. "But it will fade. You know it does every time." She shifted the phone from one shoulder to the other as she pulled on her robe. "Tell you what. You start heating some milk for cocoa there, and I'll do it here, and we can have some together even if we can't see each other."

"Okay," Kimmy said again, her voice a little stronger. Sara went back out to the kitchen, finding supplies for cocoa and pulling them together as she listened to the clinks and rustles of Kimmy doing the same.

"I watched it happen, but I couldn't make my feet move," Kimmy continued softly. "I couldn't even make any noise."

Sara was intimately familiar with dream paralysis, and made an encouraging noise. "It just _happened_," Kimmy said, her voice going wobbly again.

"I know, sweetie," Sara repeated, wishing intensely that she were able to wrap her arms around her niece. "But you couldn't have stopped it anyway."

Kimmy gulped. "I know."

Sara stirred the heating milk and kept talking, trying to soothe Kimmy's distress. "You know where the picture is, why don't you go get it? And then check on your milk."

She made her own cocoa and gradually talked Kimmy out of the horror, eventually sending her niece back upstairs and telling her a story over the phone as Kimmy snuggled under the covers. It wasn't quite the cure that they'd developed before, but it worked.

"I miss you, Aunt Sara," Kimmy said sleepily as Sara finished the story. Sara had to swallow.

"I miss you too, kiddo," she said quietly. "It's weird not having you around."

Kimmy giggled a little. "It's weird here too." She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry I called in the middle of the night."

Sara smiled, touched. "Hey, don't worry. If I were there, you would have woken me up, right?"

"Yeah." Kimmy yawned. "Maybe next time, I'll just make the cocoa by myself, though."

Sara bit her lip, carefully not contradicting Kimmy. "It's your decision. But if you need me, you call, no matter what time it is, okay?"

"Okay." Another yawn. "Goodnight, Aunt Sara."

"Goodnight, kiddo."

Sara shut off her phone, and went to blow out the candles, feeling an odd mix of wistfulness and pride.

_She's growing up._

**See Chapter 31**


	31. Chapter 31

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Many, many, many thanks to everyone who's left such wonderful feedback! You are what keeps me going on this story.  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom opened his front door with a feeling that was nine parts happy anticipation, and one part apprehension. He really didn't think that he would find Sara declaring that she hated his place and was leaving right that second, but his subconscious insisted on presenting him with the scenario.

He kept squashing it.

Work had been the usual, at least on the surface. The knowledge that Sara was at home, hopefully sleeping, had been a small gem of still semi-incredulous delight that he had carried all night, feeling like it was a secret even though it wasn't. No one had said a thing aside from a mild comment from Brass about his "new roommate", and Grissom appreciated the lack of ribbing.

The big main room was empty but for early sunlight, and Grissom closed the door behind him and called Sara's name softly. There was no answer, and he shrugged out of his vest and hung it on the coatstand before heading down the hallway.

The little fear tickled at him as he found her office empty, but when Grissom stepped into the bedroom it vanished, because Sara was sound asleep on the bed, half-sitting up against the pillows with a paperback book lying next to her limp hand.

He couldn't stop the soft smile that curled his lips, and he didn't try. _She must have been up pretty late, to still be asleep._ The urge to crawl into bed beside her and just cuddle her was strong, but--

_I may not know much about relationships, but I know that trying to hug someone when you smell like the Dumpster you spent an hour in is not a good idea. Not to mention having the sheets reek afterwards. _

So Grissom picked up the blanket folded on the bottom of the bed and draped it carefully over Sara, not even daring to kiss her forehead when she stirred and murmured. Instead, he retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him to try to keep the noise down, and scrubbed up.

He took his time, pulling on clean jeans and an old T-shirt, and came back out planning to kiss Sara awake. But the bed was empty and the blanket back in place.

Slightly disappointed, Grissom wandered back out to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee led him. Still no Sara, but the sliding door was open, letting in fresh air. He stepped up to it to look out.

Sara was setting the small table with plates and silverware; she'd brought out one of the dining room chairs and put it on the opposite side of the table from the lawn chair.

She didn't start when he slid his arms around her from behind, instead straightening and leaning back into his embrace with a gratifying ease. "Good morning," Grissom murmured, letting his lips find her ear, and Sara's arms folded over his as she made a happy sound.

"Nice to see you too. How was work?"

"Nothing special," Grissom admitted, savoring the feel of Sara's warm weight against him. "The most exciting thing that happened was finding a live kitten in a Dumpster."

"Aww." Sara turned a little, rubbing her cheek lightly against his face. "What did you do with it...and why were you the one doing the Dumpster diving?"

"Greg took it back to the lab, and I think Bobby claimed it for adoption. And I was diving because Greg cut his hand on a piece of glass at the beginning of shift. It wasn't serious, but even with gloves and a bandage it's hazardous in a Dumpster with an open wound." He explored the angle of her cheekbone with his lips for a moment.

"You're such a good boss. Even if you're not his boss anymore." Sara patted his arm and pulled away slowly. "Dinner should be almost ready."

Grissom arched a brow. "Since when do you cook?"

She snorted at him and headed for the door. "Gil, you have a freezer full of food with labels that would pass an evidence inspection with flying colors. Even I can reheat leftovers." She shot him a grin and stepped inside.

The sun was already up, but the air was still cool enough to be pleasant, and they ate in a leisurely fashion, talking idly about various Dumpsters of their experience and what kind of new patio furniture they were going to get. After the dishes were cleared they separated for a while, Grissom to deal with some paperwork and Sara to answer e-mails. He became absorbed in a chapter outline for a potential book, and didn't surface until Sara rapped gently on his open office door.

Grissom looked up over his glasses. She grinned at him again, mischievous and a touch shy. "I know you don't usually go to bed until noon, but would you mind if I seduced you into it a little early this morning?"

All thoughts of the chapter fled, and Grissom took off his glasses and stood up. "Not at all," he said drolly. "Far be it from me to hinder you."

Sara snickered, and came around his desk.

Later, when they'd made it to bed, Grissom stroked her arm drowsily. "You don't have to stay with me," he said, feeling sleep sneaking up on him.

Sara shrugged a little. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Besides, I start work next week, and goodbye leisure time."

"True." Grissom decided not to argue. "What kept you awake?"

"Kimmy called, she had a nightmare." Sara yawned, muffling it with one hand.

"Was she okay?" Grissom wondered how the younger Sidles were doing in the absence of their aunt.

"Yeah, I think she was," Sara said thoughtfully. She pushed closer to him, and Grissom took the opportunity to rest his head against her collarbone.

"Good," he said, and felt her nod. Her scent followed him into sleep.

**xxxx**

The next week passed easily--more easily than Sara had expected, she admitted to herself. True, she'd been sharing a house with other people for over three years now, but she'd had a big room all to herself.

_Though, if I'm going to be honest, we haven't spent all that much time together overall._ Sara paced slowly down the baking aisle at the grocery store, looking for chocolate chips. The grocery list was half in her quick scrawl, and half in Grissom's tidy hand; he apparently had cookies on his mind, to judge by the oatmeal and raisins also listed. He was back on night shift, and she was trying to stick to a day shift, and they met in the middle. Though today the lab had called and asked him to come in to deal with two bug-ridden bodies.

She rounded the end of a shelf and started down the next aisle, still thinking about that morning. They'd fallen into the habit of eating together before Grissom went to bed, and Sara had also gotten into the habit of climbing in with him until he fell asleep, but she knew that pattern wouldn't last much longer. _When I start work I'll be out of the house before he comes home. But we'll see each other in the evenings._ In fact, if neither of them were working overtime, she would get home at about the time he was waking.

Sara added cans of corn and pumpkin to her cart, making a mental note to find out if the Saguaro Square farmers' market was still running; its fresh produce had always outstripped that found in grocery stores. _Nick might know; he was always a fan of that place._

She glanced down at the list, and had to laugh a little. One of the last entries was "ground beef", but it had an emphatically-underlined note next to it: _Sara, do not get. Leave for me._

She shook her head fondly. Buying the stuff wasn't a problem for her; after all, she could and did routinely deal with things much more nauseating than raw meat, and what gave her trouble was the thought of actually eating the stuff, not picking up plastic-wrapped packages of it. But she decided to let Grissom choose his own; it would please him, and it was sweet of him to want to save her the ostensible difficulty of it.

Her cellphone chimed, and she pulled it off her hip, flipping it open when she didn't recognize the number. "Sidle."

"'Lo, ma'am," answered a laconic voice. "This is Jason with Quick-Ship Auto. We're about an hour out from your place, you home?"

Sara glanced at her watch automatically, suddenly elated. "I will be. 2005 Mercedes Cabriolet, right?"

"Yep," the man confirmed. "Virginia plates, black finish."   
"Great." She double-checked the address with Jason, then hung up and hurried through the rest of the list. With luck, they'd finish dropping off the car before she had to go pick Grissom up.

She drove his car back to the townhouse, appreciating its handling but happily anticipating returning to her own familiar vehicle. _Gil's been wonderful about leaving me this one while he's at work, but I hate to see him take a cab in. This will be much more convenient. _And the convertible was better suited to Nevada's sunshine than to the quirky weather of the Eastern Seaboard.

Sara had just finished putting the groceries away when the blat of an air horn alerted her to Quick-Ship's arrival. She grabbed a few bills from her wallet to tip the drivers and half-ran outside.

One of the drivers was already opening the trailer's double doors and extending its ramp. Sara had decided to pay extra to have her car moved in an enclosed trailer instead of one of the big open ones; she wasn't a fanatic about her car, but neither did she want to accept delivery on one pocked with damage from twenty-five hundred miles of road debris.

Five minutes later, the truck was rumbling out of the lot, and her convertible sat shiny and smug next to Grissom's bigger sedan. Sara regarded both cars, and decided it was warm enough to wash them.

**x**

Warrick stuck his head into Grissom's shared office. "Hey, Griss, how's the timeline coming?"

Grissom pulled off his gloves. "I just finished, at least for the moment. Why?"

Warrick shrugged. "I saw Sara drop you off earlier, and I just got a call-out for a scene out your way. Want a lift home, or did you call her already?"

"No, I didn't." Grissom made a last notation in his log and closed it, a little surprised by the offer but pleased. "Sure, that would be great, if it's not out of your way."

Warrick snorted. "Like three blocks is gonna make a difference." He waited as Grissom gathered his keys and portfolio, then stood aside so Grissom could exit the office. "How's the cohabitation thing going?"

There was only casual sincerity in Warrick's voice, so Grissom gave him an answer. "Well so far."

"You mean you haven't killed each other yet," Warrick translated as they headed out of the building. "Cool." He slid his sunglasses onto his nose, and Grissom rolled his eyes and put on his own.

"Since I know for a fact that you're not living with anyone, your assurance is somewhat suspect," he pointed out.

Warrick laughed and beeped open the SUV's locks.

As they pulled up next to the townhouse, both men's gazes were caught by the sight of Sara, sponge in hand, soaping up the front grille of her convertible. Warrick whistled softly, and Grissom couldn't tear his eyes away long enough to glare at him.

It wasn't that her clothes were immodest, Grissom thought absently; she was wearing a tank top and an FBI ball cap. It was just the sight of those long, long legs in mid-thigh shorts as she braced one hand on the hood and bent over to work on the grille. Long, long, _long_ legs.

"Uh-_huh_," Warrick muttered under his breath, then spoke in a normal tone. "See you around, Griss."

Grissom managed a nod, and climbed out of the SUV. Sara looked up, and waved the sponge.

Warrick tooted the horn and drove away. Grissom took in the details of the scene in front of him with one glance, then sat his portfolio on the front steps and went to kiss Sara.

She returned it warmly. "Hey, you don't smell."

He snickered. "Nick actually did the collection—the body had to be moved almost immediately." He let her go and stepped back a little. "He's gotten very good at determining which specimens are required."

Sara laughed. "He's moved from birds to bugs?"

Grissom nodded at the sponge. "You're dripping. Actually, I think it's more an expansion of his interests." He took another casual step backwards.

Sara turned back to the car and dipped the sponge in the bucket of soapy water, and Grissom bent down briefly. "Yeah, he's aAACK!"

Grissom held the stream from the hose on her even as she spun around, knowing that she was going to kill him and not really caring. Her sputter only made him laugh harder, and when she charged him and tried to stuff the sponge down his shirt they both got drenched as the hose was pinned between them.

Grissom knew he was stronger than Sara, but the water made her slippery, and they were both laughing too hard to be very coordinated. Eventually she extracted what she seemed to think was enough revenge, and they both sat down heavily on the front steps, soaked and panting and still laughing.

"Whew," Sara said, trying to wring out the front of her top. "Next time I'll know better than to turn my back on you when there's a hose around."

"It was an impulse," Grissom admitted, and ran a hand through his hair to get rid of some of the water. "You didn't have to do my car too, you know."

She shrugged. "It didn't make sense to do just one. I'm going to wax them in a little while."

Grissom opened his mouth, but the rise of her brows forbid protest. "Thanks."

"Sure." She leaned briefly against his shoulder. "You should go back to bed."

"Mm, I guess." Grissom regarded the sleek machine sitting next to his own elegant one, an idea forming. "Sara, would you let me drive your car?"

She gave him a slightly baffled look. "Right now? I'm not done washing it."

"No, I mean in general."

"Of course." Sara rose and stretched, giving Grissom another glorious look at her legs. "You're already on the insurance."

She scooped up the discarded sponge and walked back to her car, submerging the sponge in the bucket and glancing back. "Sleep," she repeated.

Grissom smiled at her and pushed to his feet. "See you later, sweetheart."

He went inside and stripped off his wet clothes in the bathroom, planning a quick shower and a little research before bed. The idea was a good one.

**xxxx**

Sara glanced around the townhouse's main room before shutting the door, but she didn't think she'd forgotten anything. Heading down the sidewalk towards her car, she pressed the remote to lock and alarm the house, and another to unlock her car; the beep chimed in with the ring of her cellphone. Sara opened the car door with one hand and pulled out her phone with the other, smiling as she saw the number on the display.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?" she teased lightly, swinging her frame into the driver's seat.

Grissom chuckled. "Making personal calls is one of the privileges of being a senior CSI. Excited?"

Sara shrugged a little even though he couldn't see her. "A little, I guess; starting a new job is always interesting." She closed the door.

"You're leaving already? Sara, you'll be there half an hour early."

"Traffic," she improvised, smirking.

"That fifteen-minute commute is so arduous," Grissom agreed facetiously. "Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to wish you a good day."

Sara smiled; Grissom could be so sweet sometimes. "Thanks. Sleep well when you get home, and I'll see you tonight."

"Count on it," he agreed, and her smile widened at the promise inherent in his words.

"Dream of me?" she teased again, and another low chuckle reached her ear.

"Sara...I always do."

Flushing a little, she closed the phone and put on her seatbelt before turning on the engine.

**x**

"We're delighted to have you here, Ms. Sidle," Dr. Thakur said, shaking hands as they stood in the lab director's office. "Your record is outstanding, and Toby Washington has threatened to come and take you back east if I don't make you happy."

The diminutive woman's smile was equal parts courtesy and humor, and Sara returned the firm grip, feeling both confident and...tall. "I'm very pleased to be here, Doctor. And I appreciate you accepting a transfer on such short notice."

"Not at all," Thakur said, waving Sara to a seat in her office--which, unlike that of either Catherine or Grissom, was cluttered with paper and books. "It's not hard to get good people here, but it is difficult to get them to stay more than a few years. Sooner or later they get sick of the lights or the desert, and decide to go elsewhere. But your resume says you worked here for several years before joining the Bureau?"

Sara tugged her jacket into place and nodded. "Yes, at the county lab. I...learned a lot."

Thakur smiled again, a wry expression. "I imagine you did. Well, it's another point in your favor. On the occasions when we do have to take over a case here--as distasteful as it is for all concerned--we can be sure that the evidence already collected is irreproachable. It does deserve its reputation."

Sara tucked that compliment away to share later. Grissom would probably just snort, but Nick and Catherine would get a kick out of it. Thakur cocked her head and regarded Sara intently. "What sent you east in 2005?"

"Family concerns," Sara said easily. "My brother lost his wife right around then and needed some help with his kids. I was feeling a little burned out at the time, and it turned out to be a good move." _The truth and nothing but...but not quite the whole truth. _

However, if her new boss suspected that the statement was incomplete, she gave no sign. "And now you've come back." She nodded once, not asking why Sara had returned, and leaned forward to hand Sara a folder thick with papers. "Welcome back to bureaucracy. You can get started filling those out, unless--" And she glanced past Sara's shoulder, to her open office door.

Sara turned in her seat. A dark-haired, compact man about Sara's age was standing in the doorway. "Hey, boss. We're back."

Thakur rose. "Good, then you can take Ms. Sidle on the grand tour."

Sara stood up as well as the man came in, and shook his outstretched hand. "This is Jake Smith," the director continued. "Our resident print expert."

Jake grinned, showing very white teeth. "They touch, I tag. Pleasure. Come on and I'll introduce you to everyone."

Sara let him lead her out into the corridors of labs and offices that made up the FBI, Las Vegas branch, and shook more hands as she met other agents and lab techs, and looked at equipment that was out of date but not too much so. _We did get the best stuff in D.C...eventually. _That would take some getting used to; even the Bureau had been a bit of a come-down, given the cutting-edge equipment at the county lab. _But that's just because of Grissom's grants. _And, lately, Catherine's push, she had to admit.

Lunch was take-out from a local deli, but her new co-workers chattered easily with each other despite the limited time to eat, casually including Sara but not pushing for every detail of her life. _They must be used to seeing people come and go,_ she realized, forking up some salad and listening as three of the techs--all women--ganged up on Jake to tease him about his girlfriend.

When one of them turned to Sara and laughingly demanded her support, or at least agreement, she had to smile. _It's early yet...but I think I'm going to like it here. _

**See Chapter 32**


	32. Chapter 32

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Humble thanks as always to Cincoflex, who has patiently betaed this, and to Trialia, who gave me last-minute reassurance. **

I made the animal sanctuary up out of whole cloth, but there is in fact an actual sanctuary near Reno (which is much further away from Las Vegas than my imaginary one). If you're feeling Sara-like, **Animal Ark**** (www dot animalark dot org) does accept donations.  
**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Gil." Sara, hands on her hips, stared up at him in exasperation.

Grissom turned his head to look down at her, his hands full of a case of large mounted beetles. "What?"

She shook her head, exasperated to find him on the stepladder. "I _told_ you, you don't have to take those down."

He pursed his lips, looking at the beetles. "Your big Yosemite picture would look better up here."

"No it wouldn't. Come down."

The look of appeal he shot her nearly softened her heart, but she frowned at him, and with a slightly exaggerated sigh he hung the case back on the wall and climbed off the stepladder. "Sara--"

"What?" she said, frustrated. "I told you I put up everything I wanted to put up."

"But you've hardly touched this room," Grissom retorted, sounding just as frustrated. "It still looks basically the same as when you moved in!"

Sara took a deep breath, and forbore to mention the pictures she _had_ hung, or the afghan over the back of the sofa, or the wooden screen, or her jacket hung next to his. Instead she tried to control her voice. "I like this room the way it is! It's open and clean and it's just like you. Why do you want to _change_ it?"

Grissom opened his mouth, closed it, and then spoke. "I want _you _to change it. I told you, it's all yours to do whatever you like with!"

His face was a little flushed, his voice annoyed, but Sara saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, and insight suddenly dawned. She gave herself a mental smack. _He's scared that if I don't change it, it means I'm not planning on staying._

_Idiot. Both of us._

She closed her eyes briefly, mastering her temper. _It's only been three weeks. Of course he's scared. **I'm** scared._ "Gil," she said carefully. "I don't want to change anything in here. You're letting me repaint my office and redecorate the bedroom. Hell, I even went and bought new towels for the bathroom, and that was totally over the top."

She flashed him a small smile, and he managed half of one in return at the joke. Sara stepped a pace forward and laid her hand on his chest. "I like this room, I always have. It's always fit my mental image of you. Can't we just leave it the way it is?"

Grissom stared down at her hand for a long moment, then raised his own to cover it. "Whatever you want."

The soft promise made her a little impatient, but Sara chose not to push the issue at the moment, and slipped her hand free so she could put her arms around him. "It's a good thing I have good taste," she teased gently, and Grissom snorted and held her more tightly, sighing gustily next to her ear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to push."

Sara laid her head on his shoulder, smiling wryly even though he couldn't see her face. _He'll get a grip. Eventually. _

**xxxx**

"So how's it going?" Ed's voice was soft in her ear, and Sara gave Grissom's sleeping form one last look before closing the bedroom door and walking back to the living room, cradling the cellphone.

"It's fine," she told him, meaning it. "Things are going great."

"Really?"

"Really. You were right, Ed. He is ready for this."

Ed chuckled a little. "Yeah--but how are _you_ handling it?"

She rolled her eyes a little and flopped down on the couch, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun falling across it. "I'm _fine,_ Eddie. A little overwhelmed I guess, but it's only been what, a few weeks?"

"The honeymoon's not over," he teased. "Just wait--"

"Bite me," she riposted, stretching a little. "Seriously, we're fine."

"How's the new job?"

Sara laughed, and described it in detail, from her small whirlwind of a boss down to the ballistics tech who was the local wheelchair basketball champ, touching on colleagues congenial and hair-raising. "Though I guess you can't expect to get along with everybody."

"This is true," Ed agreed. "Hey, Joey says you answer his e-mails every day. Don't let him take too much of your time, okay?"

Sara scoffed. "Oh please. Like answering takes so much effort." Joseph's notes were short, full of questions, and very nearly daily. Sara enjoyed them a great deal; not only was it good to communicate with her small nephew, the letters were often an antidote to bleak cases.

"Yeah, well, he thinks e-mail is his private domain." Ed sighed. "Listen, I'm going to be running out to Whitney next week, just so you know. Only for a couple of days, to iron out some details with the administration."

"Sounds good," Sara said, smiling. "Grace going to stay with the kids?"

Ed gave another sigh, this one exaggerated. "Yeah, since you _abandoned _us to run away to Sin City with your lover..."

Sara hooted, trying to keep it quiet. "You're just jealous."

"Too right! Right there where you can get married on a moment's notice."

"So bring Gracie out here for a visit," Sara suggested, grinning. "Nick and I know this nice little chapel..."

"Not going to any place you've had to investigate, thanks," her brother replied dryly.

She blinked in the sunlight. "Actually, I'll give you a hint. If you have an eleven-year-old daughter, you do not sneak off to Vegas or anywhere else for a quickie wedding. You _plan_, so that she can be a flower girl or a junior bridesmaid. Trust me on this."

Ed groaned. "I think I just broke out in hives."

Sara had to laugh. "It doesn't have to be elaborate--just think of it as an excuse for a good party."

"Yeah, well, I'll wait until she's actually agreed to marry me," he said wryly.

"Probably a good idea," Sara admitted, and an idea of her own bloomed. "Hey, Ed, if you can find somebody else to watch the kids, why not ask Gracie to go with you to Whitney? I don't think she's ever been west of the Rockies."

"Huh." Ed sounded thoughtful. "That's pretty good. It might make her feel better about moving out there, too."

"Yup." A muted beeping reached Sara's unencumbered ear. "Hey, I gotta go. Give everybody a hug for me?"

"You got it, sis."

Sara said goodbye and closed the phone, knowing that Grissom had hit the snooze button in the other room and was probably sitting on the edge of the bed, scrubbing sleepily at his scalp with his eyes still shut. _He's just so cute when he first wakes up._

Pursing her lips in a secret smile, she rose to go start the coffee.

**x**

Grissom still had trouble believing how easily everything had changed. _Or, to put it more precisely, how easily I've changed._ Not that it had been _all_ easy by any means, but as he sat across from Sara while they ate their evening meal, he marveled at the simple pleasure of it. Some part of him kept expecting a backlash, a rebellion in his solitary soul, but at the moment it seemed that his soul, like the rest of him, was content to bask blissfully in Sara's presence.

And she didn't seem bothered either, he had to admit. True, on the weekends they were evolving a pattern of spending some time together and some apart, one office or the other serving as a private space, but sooner or later they would wander out again and somehow settle down together. Grissom found that Sara seemed to find touch just as reassuring as he did; tucking her feet under his thigh on the couch, reaching out across the breakfast bar to absentmindedly link their fingers, once or twice sitting at his feet and leaning against his legs when they were watching TV.

He did the same thing--taking her hand or her arm when they were walking somewhere, or finding her sprawled on her stomach on the floor in front of the TV and lying down crosswise so he could rest his head on her back while he read. He did it without really thinking about it, and that was what surprised him.

The ease was reassuring, but Grissom still kept thinking about the small box he'd secreted at the bottom of a half-empty can of barbecue-flavored mealworms, figuring that was one place Sara was unlikely to stumble across it. He wanted it accessible, not out of immediate reach in a safe-deposit box. It was still too soon to ask her, but…

Sara took a sip of iced tea and set down her glass. "I'm glad tomorrow's Friday," she said, stirring her chili. "It's been a long week."

Grissom swallowed a bite of toast and nodded. "Do you want to do something special this weekend? We could take a day trip or something."

"You just want to drive the convertible," Sara teased, and he grinned.

"While I won't deny the idea is of interest, I was thinking more of just getting out of the house for a while."

"Sure, why not." Sara shrugged casually. "As long as we sleep in that morning."

Grissom arched a brow. "You? Sleep?"

"I was thinking more of you, actually. I know you're tired." She took a bite of chili, and Grissom, stung, frowned.

"I'm fine, Sara."

The look she shot him was skeptical, but it had an edge of appeal. "Oh, come on, Gil, I can't be worried about you?"

He opened his mouth to riposte, but bit back the words as he realized she wasn't being critical. _Relax. She cares. _

He let out a breath and gave her a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not very used to having anyone concerned for my welfare." Her shoulders relaxed, and he picked up his fork and added, "Except Catherine, and her concern is usually the conversational equivalent of a bulldozer."

Sara choked on her bite and covered her mouth with her napkin, muffled laughter escaping around the cloth. Grissom smirked, pleased at the result.

"Oh, you are so right," she managed eventually, wiping her eyes with the napkin. "And now she's going to wonder why I'm trying not to giggle when I talk to her."

"Tell her that Jim just told you a bad joke," he suggested, chuckling when she gave him a skeptical look. "What? It works for me."

**x**

Squinting a little against the Saturday morning sunshine, Grissom slid behind the wheel of Sara's convertible for the first time, adjusting the tilt of the seat and the steering wheel as Sara settled into place beside him. "So where are we going?" she asked, pulling on her seatbelt. Her sunglasses were already in place, and she'd tugged on an old LVPD cap to keep her hair from the wind.

Grissom put on his own seatbelt and turned over the engine, impressed at the purr, which was quiet even with the roof down. "Wait and see."

He put a hand on her headrest and turned to back the car out of the driveway, appreciating the lack of a blind spot as the car rolled down into the street.

"Are we going to the body farm?" Sara persisted, sounding a little hopeful, as Grissom put the car in first and depressed the accelerator cautiously. It had been a long time since he'd driven a sports car.

"Nope," he replied, but filed the notion away for another time. Now that he thought about it, he remembered that he'd meant to take Sara there not long after she'd first arrived in Vegas, but the intention had faded as their relationship grew strained. "I'm not going to tell you, so you can stop guessing."

Sara peered at him over her sunglasses for a moment. "Oh, like that's going to stop me."

Grissom laughed, and let the car go a little faster.

It was an enjoyable trip. Grissom had never been a true gearhead, but he could appreciate a fine machine when he encountered one. Growing used to the Mercedes, he opened it up a bit on the highway, catching the flash of Sara's grin out of the corner of his eye. "Nice, isn't it?" she said, projecting a little to be heard over the rush of air.

"Exhilarating," he agreed, and pointed the car towards the mountains.

Two hours later they were high in the hills, pulling into a graveled parking lot next to a low rambling building surrounded by trees. Sara read the sign over the door aloud. "George Donald Memorial Animal Sanctuary? This is the place for abused show animals, right?"

Grissom nodded, shutting off the engine. "Among others. It's where the Shasti elephants came after that trial two years ago."

"Oh yeah." Sara shuddered as she took off her seatbelt, but brightened. "This is totally cool, though! Do we actually get to meet the animals?"

"Some of them," Grissom replied as they got out and started up towards the building, pleased beyond measure at her delight.

"Awesome!"

His pleasure continued through the afternoon as Sara cuddled a young one-eyed kit fox, donned a gauntlet so a huge wing-damaged owl could perch on her arm, and leaned over a low fence to let an elephant's trunk gently explore her. _I was right._ The memory of the skinned gorilla, and Sara's desire to find some resolution in the case, had served him well. Her face glowed as she met creature after creature--not all of them touchable, but most quite observable--and heard from the staff their often-sad histories. And when they came to the big enclosure that housed several African tarantulas taken from an unscrupulous pet dealer, he happily consented to letting two of them use him as a climbing gym.

"Here," he said, extending his hand to her. "They're quite gentle."

Sara's expression was mingled doubt and amusement, but as he knew, she couldn't resist a challenge, and didn't so much as twitch when the big arachnid tapped lightly from his palm to hers. The reluctant smile that crept onto her face as she and the spider eyed one another made him think that he might just make use of her Christmas gift to him sometime soon.

"You're some kind of VIP here," she said in a low voice as the staff member in charge of the spiders returned them to their cage. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Grissom shrugged. He'd been quite aware that she would pick up on the fact that they were being given a private tour rather than the briefer, less interactive one meant for the general public. "I know one of the founders--she's had me in to consult about insects a few times, mostly as a diet for one animal or another."

He didn't mention the donation he sent every year. It wasn't that sizable compared to many of the contributions the place got, anyway. Nor did he mention that it was something of a tribute to Sara herself--to her determination, and her respect for life.

It was no less than he expected when she wrote a check herself after the tour.

The sun was going down when they finally left the sanctuary, Sara brushing idly at the several kinds of fur that had accumulated on her slacks. Grissom took the opportunity to dust some from the seat of her pants--or, at least, that was what he told her. Sara snickered at his look of innocence.

"I'm starving," she declared as they neared the car. "Please tell me there's someplace to eat between here and Las Vegas."

"Several places," Grissom assured her, managing to open the car door for her before she reached it. "It depends on whether you want Italian, fast food, or down-home."

Sara swung herself into the seat. "Hmm...it's probably a risk, but I'll go with down-home, if you don't mind."

"They have vegetarian entrées," Grissom noted mildly, closing the door and rounding the car. "I wouldn't have suggested it if they didn't."

Sara gave him another smile. "Sorry, I should have known."

Grissom hadn't been to the restaurant in almost a year, but it was just as he remembered it--rather shabby-looking on the outside and low-key on the inside, but with delectable food, and doing a decent business in tourists driving through the area and canny locals. The two of them got a booth by a window, and Sara ordered the fish chowder after a quick perusal of the menu. Grissom chose Brunswick stew.

"Um, if you haven't been here in so long, how'd you know they have vegetarian stuff?" Sara asked after they ordered, looking puzzled. "I mean, you don't eat them."

Grissom shrugged, a little reluctant to explain. "Ah, I…always check, now. For about the last five years or so."

"…Oh." Sara's eyes widened, and Grissom winced internally, thinking of all those years wasted on hopeless yearning. He wondered dismally if his words had hurt her, but after a moment Sara let out her breath and put her hand over his.

"All that matters is that we're here," she repeated softly, and the knot in his gut dissolved.

They had old-fashioned cheesecake for dessert, Sara sighing happily as she devoured it down to the last crumb. "Good thing you're not a vegan," Grissom teased, offering her the last bite of his own slice.

She leaned over and closed her lips over his fork, bringing his body to attention as she slowly slid the morsel off the tines, her eyes laughing at him. "Yep," she said when she'd swallowed. "In fact, cheesecake is one of my reasons _not_ to be a vegan."

Grissom set down his fork, folded his hands, and regarded her, impressing the moment into his memory--Sara with her face alight and her lips curling in a smile, relaxed and replete and totally at ease. She gave him a puckish, inquiring look. "Yes?"

He cocked his head. "Let's go home."

Her smile went sultry.

It was full dark when they left, and chilly enough to put the top up, and Grissom found it a peaceful ride, with the ribbon of the road unrolling just ahead of the headlights and Sara singing softly along with the radio. It seemed like their own private cocoon of warmth and darkness, suspended in time; the hum of the engine and the wheels, the weight of Sara's hand along his thigh--not trying to distract him, just maintaining the touch. _Contentment can be found in the strangest places. _

And much later, when they were as close as skin allowed, drifting into sleep with the last of their hungers sated, Sara shifted and whispered against his shoulder. "Thank you for today."

He just smiled.

**See Chapter 33**


	33. Chapter 33

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Please do not twit me about FBI rules or procedure. I am exercising author's privilege on this one and making it up as I go along. Thank you!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Summer came early to Las Vegas, baking the city in ferocious heat, but Sara found herself almost basking in it after three years of chilly winters and muggy wet summers. She stocked up on more sunscreen, rued the fact that the FBI required suits instead of more comfortable clothes, and stayed in touch with her family back east. And she and Grissom settled into a routine, finding which habits fit best and what annoyed the other, and discovering that living together was easier than it had any right to be.

She found out that Grissom's neck tensed up after hard cases, and how to unkink its knots, which always left him drowsy with relief; he found out that she loved to have her feet rubbed, and that if he did it long enough she would pounce him and drag him off to the bedroom. She learned that Grissom loathed bananas, and he learned she hated tequila. He began stocking her favorite beer in the spare fridge in the garage, and she found herself buying Raisinettes every time she went to the store, because he ate them so quickly.

She fell into the habit of calling her family every Sunday afternoon, spending thirty or forty minutes chatting with her niece and nephew about their week, and then talking with Ed. Sometimes Kimmy or Joseph would ask to speak to Grissom as well, mostly to ask questions, but it never failed to tickle her when his ears would pink up with slightly embarrassed pleasure at the summons to the phone.

Grissom's townhouse complex included a pool, and Sara discovered that Grissom loved to swim when he had time, claiming that doing endless laps was "meditative". She didn't argue, instead joining him in the evenings after the kid rush was over, and they would cruise up and down the lanes, apart and yet together, before going peacefully home to share a rinsing shower.

There were layers to happiness, Sara discovered. She'd told Grissom the past summer that she hadn't been happy, but on looking back she realized that her contentment in her family was a form of happiness that she hadn't recognized. Now she missed them, but found that being with Grissom offered a richer contentment, a deeper happiness--a sense of rightness that defied articulation. It was made up of so many things; little things sometimes, like knowing that if she felt sad or lonely, she could curl up on the couch next to Grissom, and his arm would come around her and snug her in tightly, even if he were absorbed in a journal, and hold her until the feeling dissipated.

Or knowing that he felt free to roll over in bed and put his head on her stomach, seeking his own comfort, and that she could reach down and stroke his hair as long as she liked, as his tension ebbed and he sighed against her skin.

**xxxx**

Grissom opened the front door of the townhouse and stepped into the welcome coolness, closing the door behind him with a sigh and dumping his keys and wallet onto the breakfast bar. The house was silent, but he could smell Sara in the air, and that fact pleased him, even now.

He kicked off his shoes and padded towards the bedroom, wanting a shower. It was always a little disappointing to come home when Sara was already gone to work, but knowing that she would most likely be there when he woke up was the antidote. Plus, there was an even chance that she would simply slide into bed next to him when she got home, catching a quick nap and letting him wake with her in his arms. It was one of the small lovely things she did, without needing to discuss it.

One long shower later, he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, made himself a thick sandwich, and sat down in his office to do some personal paperwork. He still handled the utility bills and so forth, but now out of a joint account that they had set up within days of Sara's arrival. It was another thing that hadn't required much discussion; they were both of the same mind. Most of their salaries went into that account, or another savings account that they shared; both of them had kept private ones as well, though Grissom suspected with amusement that the main purpose was so that they could each buy presents for the other without spoiling the surprise.

He wanted to buy her gifts. _Always,_ Grissom admitted to himself, and in fact he had a bookmark folder in his laptop's browser filled with possibilities. But he didn't want to overwhelm her, either; showering her with tokens of his affection would make her uncomfortable.

_Better to spin them out over time._ After all, there were birthdays, and Christmases, and the occasional random moment.

_And anniversaries. _Grissom idly listed a few dates on a scrap of paper, knowing that Sara wouldn't think to celebrate them; the day Joseph had gotten lost, the day she'd decided to come back to Las Vegas, the day they'd originally met. All of them possibilities.

Eventually he went to bed, tucking Sara's pillow under his head instead of his own, and dreamed an absurd dream of proposing to her in the shower.

**xxxx**

Sara sighed. No matter what some people said, stakeouts were _boring._ And even in the Bureau she normally didn't have to bother with them, but this time...

She shifted in the back seat of the unmarked car and pulled Ed's letter out of her pocket. He'd sent her a long e-mail, and she'd printed it off before leaving for work that morning, with plans to read it at lunch, but lunch had been preempted by a sudden break in a drugs case. Thakur had ordered them all out with the arresting team, to dive in as soon as all the suspects were in custody and try to save whatever evidence they might try to destroy. But this meant sitting and waiting while the arresting team chose its moment.

_And they can't seem to make up their collective mind._ It was an idle gripe; Sara knew that when taking on a group of heavily armed drug dealers it was wise to be careful. _But just sitting here is such a waste of time. There isn't even room back here for my laptop. _

Next to her sat Jake Smith, arms folded across his chest, to all appearances dead to the world; she knew now, however, that his doze was actually light and that he would come out of it bright-eyed and alert as soon as something started to happen. Her fellow agents in the front seat were talking in low voices about football. Sara turned to her letter with a sense of relief.

_Hey sis,_ it read. _Thought I'd bring you up to speed on various details, since I seem to forget them every time we talk. Have I thanked you recently for talking Grace into moving out west with us? Thank you, thank you. (salaam) I don't know what decision I'd have ultimately made if she'd decided to stay behind, and besides the kids are much happier that she's going too. Joey's asked me point-blank if I'm going to marry her, and Kimmy keeps giving me these indulgent looks, but I've sworn them both to secrecy and threatened to eat all their ice cream myself for a year if they spill my plans. _

_The house deal went through; it's within walking distance from campus, and it's big enough for the four of us plus you two WHEN you come visit. Note the when. I got really lucky. I think the only reason it worked is that the seller's a Whitney alum; when the realtor said I was getting a job there, she apparently put my name at the top of the bid list. Pretty cool, huh? Grace is still working on an apartment, and if you want to offer her more funds I can supply them. Hint. Not that she'll stay in one for long if I have anything to say about it. _

_Kimmy's still kind of worried about moving out there, but she's being brave about it. Man, she's growing up fast. I am going to be SO glad to have a woman in the house again, I'm telling you. I mean, there's some questions a dad just can't answer, and she can't call you for all of 'em. _

_Schools--I've checked out a few online and it looks like there's a great one for Joey nearby. Kimmy's might be more of a problem, but she's been making noises about trying public school next year, so that may work out. _

_We've gotten a lot of packing done; did I tell you I found your brown jacket and a box of textbooks? I don't think you ever unpacked the books. I'll take them with and you can pick them up when you come visit, unless you say otherwise. My realtor says selling the house shouldn't be a problem, but that doesn't surprise me--location, location, new paint job... _

_It's a little rough leaving this place. I mean, Jen and I bought it **together**. Not to mention taking the kids so far away from their grandparents. But it's like you said about Las Vegas when you came east--I've outgrown D.C. Maybe I'll come back some day, but I know Jen wouldn't thank me for hanging around and being sentimental. In fact, knowing her, she'd probably kick my ass for it! I love strong women... _

_You still sound happy when I talk to you. I'd read between the lines except there don't seem to be any lines--Doc G is taking good care of you. Well, he'd better! Not that I'm worried. But if he ever needs a talking-to or a good dose of something miserable but non-lethal--malaria, say--you know who to call. _

_The move date's sometime in early August, so plan on visiting no later than September. Sure, everything'll still be a mess, but I **miss** you, little sister. And so do the kids and Grace. Besides, I know you'll want to check everything out. _

_Talk to you Sunday, and say hi to that guy you're living with. Love ya. _

"What's that? Laundry list?" Jake asked lazily, dissolving the phantom sound of Ed's voice. Sara smiled a bit, wistful and warmed, and looked up at him. His eyes were barely open, but she knew he was quite aware of his surroundings.

"Letter from my brother." Sara folded the sheets again and tucked them away in her pocket, having learned from experience that Jake had few inhibitions and was quite capable of trying to snatch them from her hands if he were curious enough. The fact that he was without any sort of malice kept her from being too annoyed; in a lot of ways he reminded her of Greg, though without the same edge of zaniness.

"Huh, cool. My sisters never write _me._" Jake folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes again, looking darkly handsome with his mop of ebony hair.

"All your sisters live within the city limits," Sara observed with amusement. "Besides, I'll bet you wouldn't write back anyway."

Jake managed a wounded look without opening his eyes. "Hey, I answer letters. In fact--"

The agent in the driver's seat, a big woman with the blonde good looks of her Viking ancestors, waved a hand at them. "Hey, shut up, guys, they're on the move."

All four of them came to attention, Jake leaning forward to peer over the blonde agent's shoulder. About a quarter-mile away, they could see the sudden activity as the arresting team surrounded the ramshackle barn that had been turned into a drug storage depot and meeting place. Even at that distance, those in the car could hear the attenuated pop and crackle of gunfire, and all their humor fled.

The operation was swift. Within twenty minutes they were summoned to begin evidence collection, and the blonde agent started the engine and drove them up to the barn, passing two ambulances going in the opposite direction. A third was still on site as they parked, and Sara winced as a coroner draped a sheet over a motionless form in body armor. It wasn't someone she recognized at a glance, and she was sadly grateful. Working for the Bureau sometimes meant losing colleagues; it wasn't as though the county police didn't get into dangerous situations, but agents encountered more such. She had seen more agents go down in the past three years than she had seen cops killed in all her time working at the county level.

A last few suspects were led out of the raftered barn, cuffed and mostly swearing, and then the forensics people got the okay to go inside. Jake was grumbling a little.

"What the hell are they being so cautious about? It's not like we're civilians or something."

Sara knew it was just his way of releasing tension, but as they passed through the big double doors and into a space that stank of chemicals and cigarette smoke, she couldn't resist teasing him a little. "Hey, we're valuable. We're the ones who're going to actually put away the bad guys." She gave him a skeptical look. "I don't know why _you're_ here, though."

Their colleagues snorted as the four of them split up to quarter the barn. Jake's expression was mock-haughty as he pulled on gloves. "Oh, you'll pay for that, Sidle. Later."

Sara snickered, and began focusing.

It took hours to process the place, not that she expected any less. Drug shipments had been stored in the main part of the barn without any attempt at concealment besides tarpaulins thrown over the stacks, and Sara suspected that the coverings were mainly to keep off dust and whatever animals managed to find their way into the building. Fortunately for the dealers, rats didn't seem to be interested in the packages.

There was a crude entertainment center set up in the middle of the barn, with a scarred table, some battered chairs, a TV, and an X-Box, of all things. The power came from a generator kept out behind the barn. The loft was still half-full of ancient hay bales, but there were a few cots up there as well, and some dirty blankets. _Plenty of DNA evidence,_ Sara thought, and shuddered, counting her blessings. Somebody _else_ had to investigate the chemical outhouse next to the generator.

As the day wore on, they totaled up a huge number of drug packages, obscene both in value and in importation; collected myriad prints, fibers, hairs, and larger evidence; and barely remembered to break for lunch.

Sara had to admit, the Vegas Bureau agents were as dedicated as those in D.C. and her former county colleagues, if slightly more straight-edge. But then, she couldn't quite see someone like Greg really fitting into federal law enforcement, either; the image of him with a latex glove on his head kept springing to mind, making her grin into her sandwich.

It was a good sandwich, pita bread with a sort of pesto hummus that Grissom had invented. He'd packed it for her, too, leaving it in the fridge with a stern note to remind her to take it with her. The small bag of corn chips and the bottle of green tea also in the bag made her feel a little like a kid sent off to school, but it also touched her. Grissom did tend to scold her about not eating enough, but the tangible evidence of his caring never failed to lift her spirits a little.

As they finished processing, Sara went back up the rickety ladder to the loft, making a second pass. She didn't often miss something, but it never hurt to be thorough, and on this round, thanks to the change in light, she spotted the corner of something poking out from a bale; it turned out to be a small knife, and she photographed it carefully before sliding it into a bag with a smirk of satisfaction.

As she finished her sweep and headed back towards the ladder, a small oddity caught her eye. Sara stopped and sharpened her gaze. _Huh._

Ten feet out along one of the rafters lay a tiny oblong shape; it took her a moment of squinting to make out the details. _I do believe...that's a memory stick._

It was a _prize,_ as far as evidence collection went. Sara glanced around automatically for something to snag it with, but she already knew that there was nothing available--no pitchfork was going to be long enough anyway.

She pursed her lips consideringly. _There's no way to reach it from here--I could toss something at it, but what? Besides, someone would have to catch it, and what if they miss? _

Making up her mind, Sara kicked off her shoes and peeled out of her jacket, then tucked a small evidence bag into her waistband. Flexing her fingers nervously in their latex coverings, she decided that lower was safer, and reached out.

The rafter was only about two feet above the loft floor, and it was easy to hoist herself onto it. It was rough; Sara grimaced, and anticipated major damage to her slacks. But it was narrow enough to wrap her legs around, and she braced her hands on the dusty surface and edged forward. Spotting Jake below, she called his name.

His look of dawning horror made her want to giggle. "Sidle, what the _hell?_"

"Somebody stashed a memory stick out here," she explained, moving beyond the edge of the loft and trying to ignore the twenty-foot drop to the barn floor. The _cement_ barn floor. "If you've got a better idea I'd love to hear it."

Jake's answer was in Spanish, which was a language Sara didn't speak, but she was pretty sure it was more swearing. She rocked forward slowly, wincing a little at the press of the beam into the tender flesh of her inner thighs. "If you fall I'm not going to catch you!" Jake called.

She snickered, keeping her eyes fixed on her goal. _It's a good thing Gil's not here. He'd be furious._

Bit by bit, she made her way out to the memory stick, trying to ignore the occasional slight groan of the beam. Pulling her digital camera from her hip pocket, she snapped a couple of photos, then put it away again and retrieved the evidence bag.

"Great," Jake commented as she dropped in the memory stick and sealed the bag. "Now how are you going to get _back,_ genius?"

By this time she'd gathered an audience of the other two CSIs and one other agent, all looking up. Sara suppressed another grimace; she'd been too focused on retrieving the stick to really think about getting off the beam.

_Well, I have two options. Go backward, or turn around. _

Going backward was safer, but it would be slow and difficult, and she really wanted to be back on at least semi-solid ground. Taking a deep breath, Sara braced herself, deliberately blocked the drop from her mind, and shifted her weight to swing one leg up and over until she was sitting crosswise.

The murmur from below sounded dismayed, but Sara concentrated on maintaining her balance. _Pretend it's a curb. _She gripped the rafter more tightly, then rocked back a little and lifted her other leg.

The move was smooth, but as she settled into place, a sudden movement below made her look down automatically. Four wide-eyed faces were staring up at her, and the sight of all the empty air between them and the beam made her suddenly dizzy.

Locking her ankles together and closing her eyes, Sara felt herself swaying.

**x**

Grissom heard the phone ring, somewhere in the depths of dream; it wasn't enough to wake him right away, but it started him on the journey back to consciousness. When he finally rolled over and opened his eyes, he realized that Sara wasn't in bed with him.

_Oh well. Maybe she's working late today. _

Yawning, he sat up and let his feet touch the carpet, feeling his brain slowly revving into gear. When the alarm went off, he jumped, cursing and slapping it off again, then frowning.

_Damn, it must have been the phone. I hope they left a message._

As if on cue, the phone rang again.

**x**

"Hey, Gil." Sara winced as the EMT's tweezers tugged at the huge splinter embedded under the skin of her palm. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"I don't mind," he replied, and she could hear a little residual sleep-fog in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she lied, smothering a squeak as the splinter came free. "I'm gonna be late tonight, that's all. Major scene." _I am **so** not going to tell you I nearly fell off a rafter over the phone. Maybe later. _She could just imagine how upset he would get over something that had already passed.

"Okay--I hate to miss you, but I'll try and get home a little early and make you breakfast."

Sara watched as the EMT applied antibiotic cream and tore into a paper packet. _I didn't know they **made** Band-aids that big._ "Sounds great," she managed. "I'll see you later, then."

She said goodbye and closed her phone as the EMT applied the bandage, which covered most of her palm. "Keep it clean and covered, you know the drill," he said cheerfully, patted her shoulder, and moved away, leaving her sitting on the back step of the idle ambulance. Sara stared down at the square of plastic, remembering with sudden vividness the last time she'd hurt that hand. But the sliver, while huge, had slid just under her skin rather than driving into the flesh. The EMT hadn't even suggested a tetanus shot.

Her moment of dizziness had passed quickly, mainly due to her own iron determination, and Sara had made her way back to the loft without further incident; she'd gotten the splinter on her way back down the ladder. _At least it kept the guys from yelling at me too much. _

Suddenly tired, Sara brushed uselessly at her dusty slacks; they were snagged in several places. _But I got the damn memory stick._

"Hey, ready to go, or should I order you a trapeze?" Jake asked, strolling up with both their kits.

Sara suppressed the rude gesture she wanted to make. "Shut up, Agent Smith."

Jake flushed, but apparently thought better of a response. "C'mon, Sidle, it's past dinnertime."

"Okay, okay." Sara pushed to her feet and took her case away from Jake, glaring at him when he tried to hang onto it. "Let's go."

They rode back to the city through sunset and into darkness; Sara ignored the throbbing in her hand as best she could and reread Ed's letter to distract herself, but she ran out of letter before she ran out of light. Jake was pulling his dozing routine in the other seat, and she wished she could do the same.

But the best she could manage was a sort of half-trance, scarcely acknowledging when the hypnotic rhythm of the highway's sodium lights flashing past turned to the staccato stutter of casino signs and streetlights. It was almost dreamlike when the agent driving suddenly swore, but the lurch of the car and the screech of tires shocked her aware, and she could see quite vividly Jake's wide eyes and open mouth opposite when the world exploded.

**See Chapter 34**


	34. Chapter 34

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Thank you for your faith!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom closed and latched his case and stuck his pen back into a vest pocket, watching Greg carry the last of the evidence envelopes over to the SUV. "Can I get a ride with you, Jim?" he asked the police captain, who was standing near the crime scene tape where he could kibbitz both the collection and the crowd. "Greg has the vehicle with the broken radio."

Brass snickered. "The one that won't turn off and won't play anything less than ear-blasting? Suits him perfectly."

Grissom grimaced. "I like my hearing the way it is. I don't know why Auto Pool hasn't fixed that one yet."

Brass pulled his hands from his pockets; one held the keys to his sedan. "I'll bet Sanders keeps stealing the repair slip. Sure, come along if you want, but I told Rahman I'd swing by the hospital and pick up the vic's clothes."

"That's fine." Grissom bent to grab his case, and gestured for Brass to lead the way. The scene was messy but fairly straightforward, a domestic dispute gone completely overboard; both the spouses were being treated at the nearest emergency room.

"It's still weird, seeing you taking orders," Brass admitted as they walked to his car. "You haven't done that since I was your boss."

Grissom shrugged. "Catherine was right."

Brass unlocked the car, and when Grissom didn't continue, shot him a waiting look. "About what?"

Grissom set his case in the back seat and got into the front one. "Abdul is a good supervisor." As well he might be--Grissom had, after all, trained him, and the younger man shared Grissom's dedication to the evidence _uber alles._ _Plus, he's got more political sense than I ever had._

Brass snorted and took the driver's seat. They chatted idly about baseball on the way to the hospital, and Grissom checked his watch as Brass parked the car. He would clock out as soon as they got back to the lab, so he could go home and fix breakfast for Sara.

"C'mon in with me--you can get his clothes and I can get hers. Or vice versa," Brass suggested, and Grissom climbed out of the car as well, acceding.

The emergency room was busy but not chaotic; the two men made a direct line for the examining cubicles with the ease of long habit, Brass barely slowing as he flashed his badge at the nurses' station. "Keltin couple?"

She, in turn, barely glanced at his ID. "Curtains Ten-A and Twelve-A."

They could hear the shouting halfway down the hallway; apparently the dispute wasn't over yet. Brass wrinkled up his face in a tired frown, but didn't slow his pace. Grissom, trailing him, glanced idly to his left as they passed Six-B.

It felt like a hand had grabbed his throat and squeezed. Framed perfectly in the

open curtain, lying back on a gurney, was _Sara,_ her face white but for a line of crimson, her jacket ripped--

The curtain swished closed with a rattle, cutting off that glimpse as a doctor pulled it to. Grissom's ears rang, his own pulse drowning out the sounds of the ER for a moment, and then the fabric of the curtain was in his hand, and if its track hadn't been bolted to the ceiling he would have pulled it down. "_Sara?"_

**xxxx**

_You're fine,_ Sara kept telling herself. _You're **fine**._ But her shaking hands belied her silent mantra, and she kept hearing the smash of metal and glass. _Thank God none of us were hurt._

Well, seriously, anyway. The only real casualty had been the driver who'd careened into the front end of their vehicle, a young man so high that he'd barely sensed the pain of his injuries. But he'd spun their car about, slamming the back end into a telephone pole, and while the airbags had protected the agents from severe injuries, they were all bruised and cut, and Sara and Jake had had to climb out the broken windows when their doors wouldn't open. She'd torn open the splinter cut on her hand, and now had a wad of gauze clenched in her fist to stem the bleeding until someone had time to look at it.

The nurse who'd guided her to a cubicle had pointed at the phone installed on the back wall and told her with a sympathetic smile that she could call someone if she wanted to, cellphone use being prohibited within the hospital. Sara had stared at it with a stunned longing as the nurse left, wanting desperately to hear Grissom's reassuring voice. _But he's in the middle of work,_ her conscience twitted her. _You're not really hurt, all you'd do is panic him. You can tell him when you get home._

Grissom was paranoid enough already, she told herself, trying to calm her queasy stomach, which didn't appreciate the scent of hospitals. She didn't want to get him upset over nothing. So she gripped the gauze, and shivered in her torn jacket, and tried to keep back the memories--the lab explosion, Pamela Adler's motionless body, piles of abuse injury reports--

And further back and deeper, trip after trip to the ER as a child, after the screaming, the threats, the blows--

A short stocky man with silvering hair hurried into her cubicle at last, giving her a slightly distracted smile. "Ms. Sidle? I'm Doctor Hanrahan, I'm here to stitch your hand."

He slid the curtain across to close the cubicle, but a breath later it was thrown back violently, and Sara's head spun at the sight of Grissom--his face white, his eyes wide, but inexplicably, indubitably there. _"Sara?"_

Doctor Hanrahan turned with an irritable expression. "Only family members--" he began, but Sara didn't think that Grissom even saw him, because he strode right past the doctor. One hand wrapped around her forearm and the other rose to touch her uninjured cheek. "Sara, what--are you all right!"

She tried to speak, and choked, and barely managed a nod. Grissom's arms slid around her with infinite care, and Sara leaned against him, turning to press her face into his shoulder and trying to hold back tears.

He was shaking, she could feel the tremble in his muscles, but his grip was still gentle. His voice was harsh as he said something to the doctor--they were arguing--but Sara was struggling too hard to keep a grip on her emotions, and couldn't spare the attention to understand. Then Brass' voice cut in, and she didn't know why he was there, but she didn't care either at that moment. The doctor's voice faded, and she heard the curtain rattle again, and the only loud sound was Grissom's breathing.

His heartbeat was hard and fast under her ear. Sara pushed closer to him, and his arms tightened; it was a very awkward position, but she didn't care. Never in all her trips to the hospital had anyone ever offered her more than the impersonal comfort an overworked physician allots to a passing patient.

"S--" he said, and his voice squeaked into silence; she felt his swallow against her scalp. "Sara, you're okay?"

She nodded again, but Grissom loosened his grip and put a hand under her chin, making her look up. "Really? You're not hurt?"

Sara shook her head, swallowed herself, and managed to speak. "I--I'm okay. I hurt my hand, but it--it's nothing." She looked down at her fist, uncurling it a little; the gauze stuck to the slice, the bleeding had stopped.

"Your cheek--" He touched the skin next to the cut, which she hadn't known about until a paramedic had blotted it at the accident scene.

"It's just a scratch." Sara shivered again, her nausea surging at the reminder, and

Grissom pulled her close once more.

"What _happened?_" he asked. "My phone must be off, I didn't--"

He fumbled at his waist, but before he could pull the phone from his belt the curtain rattled and Brass stuck his head back in. His eyes were concerned, but he spoke in a dry voice. "Hey, the doc needs to fix your hand, Sara. Can I let him back in?"

Sara straightened out of Grissom's embrace. "Sure," she said, her voice hoarse.

Brass stood aside, and Hanrahan bustled back in, still huffy. He wheeled up a small table and started laying out various supplies, sparing a glance at Grissom. "You really should--"

Grissom didn't make a sound, but his glare said plenty. The doctor's mouth snapped shut, and he frowned down at his instruments, the set of his shoulders expressing clear disapproval.

The stitching didn't take long, fortunately for Sara's nerves; she wasn't sure whether snapping would mean bursting into tears or throwing the trayful of instruments at the doctor, and she was just as glad to not find out. The stitches hurt despite the anesthetic, and brought back more unpleasant memories, but this time she had more than a distracted "honey" from Grissom's lips--he was _there_, gripping her good hand as she tried not to flinch.

Hanrahan finished in good time, applying gauze and tape this time and giving her a mechanical lecture on caring for the wound, including when to get the stitches out. Sara couldn't quite make her mind focus on the instructions, but it didn't matter--she knew how to deal with minor injuries. Besides, Grissom was drinking in every word with a frown deepened by concentration.

Finally the doctor departed, hurrying off to some other patient and throwing back a last command to sign herself out at the desk when she left. Grissom let out a long breath.

Sara stared blankly at her white-swathed hand, feeling the sting and ache even under the anesthetic, and aware of other bruises. Grissom, still standing beside the gurney, made a couple of the soft sounds that told her he was searching for words, then finally lifted a hand to stroke her hair back from her face. "Sara...what the hell happened?"

The quiet question almost undid her again. "There was an...accident," she said briefly, trying not to remember the glass-sharp details. "Somebody hit our vehicle. None of the Bureau people were hurt, though."

The sound Grissom made then was one of disagreement, but he didn't debate her statement. "I cut my hand climbing out of the car," Sara added, not finding the energy to try to explain the splinter.

Brass' voice sounded on the other side of the curtain, and Sara heard Jake answering. A second later her colleague pushed the cloth aside; he had a spectacular black eye forming, but his grin was only a little pained. "Hey, Agent Highwire, do you--oh, I guess you did."

Sara mustered her manners. "This is Doctor Gil Grissom. Gil, this is one of the guys on my team, Agent Jake Smith."

Jake stepped forward to shake hands. "Glad to meet you. So you have a ride home, Sara? The big T's got us rounding up to head back for our cars, but you can just get yours tomorrow."

"I'm taking her home," Grissom said firmly. "Don't plan on seeing her tomorrow."

Jake snickered, but his glance at Sara was respectful. "Whatever. 'Night, Sidle."

She waved at him, and he vanished again; Sara envied his energy. In that respect he reminded her of Ed, with near-boundless reserves.

Grissom shot her an inquiring glance. "Agent Highwire?"

Sara shook her head. "I'll explain later. Can we just go home now?"

"Of course." Grissom's arm around her waist helped her down from the gurney, and Sara let him do it even though she didn't need the assistance.

Brass was still lingering outside the cubicle, and gave her a swift but thorough once-over as they emerged. "You doing okay, doll?" he asked kindly.

Sara nodded. "I'll be fine, Jim, thanks."

He patted her shoulder lightly with one hand, the other being encumbered with two large paper evidence bags. "Okay. Let's get you guys back to the lab so you can get home."

Signing out took a couple of minutes, and Sara even managed to feel slightly amused by the hovering attitude of the two men behind her as she finished her paperwork, but mostly she just wanted to get out, and home, and into a shower to wash off the smell of disinfectants and distress.

Grissom insisted on sitting in Brass' back seat with her, but didn't say much on the way to the lab. Sara just leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, trying not to jump when a horn beeped nearby.

Brass dropped them off at Grissom's car. Grissom opened the passenger door for her, and helped her fasten her seatbelt, but he was still silent as he started the engine and drove the car out of the lot. Sara glanced at his face; it looked stretched and set in the sliding light of the streetlights, the expression he used when he was seriously upset and didn't want to show it.

She opened her mouth to reassure him again that she was all right, but before she could get the words out Grissom spoke. "You didn't call me."

Sara blinked. "…What?"

Grissom didn't look at her, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You didn't _call_ me, Sara. I checked my phone. I had no idea anything was wrong until I saw…happened to see you in the ER." He flexed his jaw. "Were you going to keep it a complete secret?"

It finally dawned on her that he was _angry._ Guilt seeped through her, tinged with reciprocal anger. "No, of course not. But it was nothing, Gil--the only reason I went to the hospital is because they made me go."

"You were _hurt._" Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose, then flipped on the turn signal. "Sara, you were in a serious accident!"

"I--yeah, but--" She couldn't articulate the thoughts that had kept her from calling; most of them seemed silly and feeble now. She forced one out. "I didn't want to upset you over something minor."

Grissom said something under his breath, and steered the car into a narrow cross-street. He shut off the engine with a sharp twist and turned towards her.

"It was _not_ minor." His voice was still quiet, but she heard something underneath, something other than rage, as he lifted her damaged hand delicately. "_This_ is not minor."

His other hand flicked back the collar of her shirt-style blouse to reveal the fresh bruise from the chest strap of the seatbelt. "_Look_ at that, Sara. You know what could have happened!"

His voice shook a little on the last word, and Sara took in his too-wide eyes and finally placed the elusive emotion. _Oh shit. He's terrified._

Remorse strengthened the guilt, and she could feel her own inadvertent betrayal burning in him. _I forgot--how could I forget?_ He was so afraid of losing her, of having her give up on him, and she'd just made it seem like she didn't want him there when she was in trouble.

"Gil, I'm sorry," she said fervently, lifting her good hand to his forearm where he was still touching her collarbone. "I wanted you there, I really did, but I didn't want to interrupt your work time for this. Honestly." She dropped her gaze. "I really am sorry."

Sara felt tears starting again, a combination of pain and stress and exhaustion, and blinked against them. Grissom shook off her hand; there were two clicks in rapid succession as he freed their seatbelts, and then he was pulling her into his arms despite the small console between them. Sara held her injured hand close to her chest, but let the other slide around his shoulders.

"Don't scare me like that," Grissom muttered into her hair, pleading rather than admonishing. "You should always call me."

"Okay," Sara promised, the word muffled against his own collar. His vest was harsh under her cheek, and she didn't care. "I will."

"Always. I don't care what it is, Sara, just call me."

She nodded, wishing she could go back and do just that.

He drove her home, and when the front door closed behind them, ordered her firmly to go and get undressed.

"I want a shower, Gil," she insisted tiredly, and he nodded.

"I know. I'll get a plastic bag for your hand."

It took her a little while to undress, thanks to the bruises and the bandage. By the time she shrugged into her robe, shivering a little, and walked into the master bath, Grissom--who had stripped down to his boxers--had arranged things to his satisfaction. The shower was already running, heating the room with steam, and the moment Sara appeared, Grissom handed her two painkillers and a glass of water.

She downed the pills without protest, aching in every bone. Grissom picked up a plastic bag from the counter and slid it carefully over her injured hand, taping the end to her forearm to keep out the water, then helped her out of her robe and guided her into the shower.

As she had done once for him, he washed her in silence, covering her in suds and rinsing them off, gently smoothing shampoo through her hair. Sara allowed it, taking a shy pleasure in being cared for so tenderly, and wanting to make up for her blunder in some small way. Grissom kept her under the water until her skin was no longer chilled, then dried her off carefully and made her put on a pair of soft cotton pajamas. "Go get in bed," he told her softly, kissing her forehead. "I'll be along in a minute."

Sara obeyed, sitting up against the headboard with the blanket pulled over her lap, and stared down at her hand. Grissom had removed the bag, and the gauze was dry, but she remembered acutely the angle and length of the cut. Her palm would be doubly scarred now, one line bisecting the other in an uneven cross.

Before long, Grissom came in; he'd pulled on dry shorts and a T-shirt, and carried a large mug in one hand and a tube in the other. "Here," he said, handing her the mug; a savory steam rose from it, carrying the scent of vegetable soup.

"I'm not really--" she started, but he gave her a stern look.

"Drink it, Sara. You'll feel better tomorrow if you do."

That was true. She took a sip; the rich flavor did taste good. "Thanks."

Grissom nodded, and knelt on the mattress next to her, opening the tube, which Sara saw was antibiotic cream. He squeezed a dab onto his fingers, and with a delicate touch anointed the scratch on her face.

As before, he combed out her hair, and Sara finished the soup as he did so, the heat settling her uneasy stomach and making her sleepy. When she was finished, he took the mug and set it aside.

Sara slid down under the covers, then reached up with her good hand and tugged on his arm. "Get down here," she ordered tiredly, and Grissom's lips twitched slightly as he complied.

She burrowed into his arms as soon as he was close enough. "I'm going to have nightmares," she informed him.

Grissom held her a little more tightly. "I'll be here."

"Good," she said, and closed her eyes.

**xxxx**

The cool light of dawn was fighting with the warmer lamplight, and Grissom reached out an arm to turn off the lamp, trying not to disturb the woman curled up against him. Sara had not slept well, waking time and again with bad dreams, and not sinking deeply into sleep between them. Grissom had not slept at all; besides the fact that it was his "day", he hadn't wanted to take his attention from Sara for an instant.

_I almost lost her._ He couldn't stop going over the thought. Grissom had known on an intellectual level that such loss was a possibility; he knew full well the dangers of her job, and the random chance that can strike anyone. But he hadn't imagined--hadn't dared to imagine--the reality.

He wasn't impulsive, or irrational. He wasn't going to demand that she quit her job and find something safer to do; even if he thought she'd accede, which he didn't, the accident itself was proof that anything could happen.

There was nothing he could do. He knew that. _Nothing but love her now. _He'd wasted so much time….

Grissom looked down. Sara had spent the first part of the night with her face pressed against his chest, but now lay a little apart, her eyes closed, her head resting on his arm instead of the pillow. Her undamaged hand was loosely fisted under her chin; the other lay limp on the sheet. She looked sweet, relaxed, entirely private. _Like a secret long kept,_ Grissom quoted to himself.

Delicately, he brushed an errant strand of hair from where it was caught in her lashes, and her eyes opened, clear and calm. Grissom doubted she'd been asleep.

"How's your hand?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Sara flexed it carefully. "It hurts," she admitted, "but not too badly."

Her pajama top was half-open; Grissom could see the dark line of bruising striping her chest where she'd been slammed against her seatbelt. He touched it lightly. "This?"

She shrugged with one shoulder, looking lazy. "I'll be stiff for a day or two, that's all."

She rolled over onto her back and stretched carefully. Grissom took in every movement with absent appreciation, but his eyes went to the scratch on her cheek. Unlike the bruising, it had lightened; it really was minor.

Sara sighed and relaxed, turning back onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow to look at him. "So, can I have a kiss, or are you still pissed?" she asked, her mouth quirking.

Grissom snorted, and kissed her for a long warm moment. When he lifted his head, she gave him a full-fledged grin; her eyes were still dark-ringed, but she looked much better than she had during the night, and the shocky look was gone.

Grissom wasn't impulsive, not generally. But the intuition that served him so well in his work occasionally spoke elsewhere, prompting him to action. And it moved in him now, bringing unexpected words to his lips.

"Marry me."

Sara's eyes widened, and Grissom cringed internally. _Dammit, I meant to say it better than that. _He opened his mouth to try to rephrase, but Sara's fingers covered his lips. Grissom closed them obediently, feeling the gauze tickling his chin.

"Did you mean that?" Sara asked quietly, her eyes narrowing.

Grissom nodded, but she didn't remove her hand. Her jaw shifted.

"Are you just asking because of last night? I mean, it's not like--"

He reached up and took her wrist in his fingers, tugging it gently away. "No. Well, that's part of why I'm asking you _now,_ but no. I've…Sara, I would have asked you on Christmas Day if I'd thought you would have agreed." He ducked his head a little, wondering if his poor sense of timing had ruined things. "Is it too soon? I--"

Sara shook her head. "No. I mean, yes, okay, I'll marry you." Her widening smile trembled. "Of course I will."

Grissom let out a long, long breath, that seemed to carry with it years' worth of weight. Some small cynical voice deep inside, that had believed without evidence that she would say no, was silenced at last as Sara moved into his embrace.

He held her tightly, and defied fate.

**See Chapter 35**


	35. Chapter 35

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**Many thanks to Anne, for reminding me about Thursday morning poker, and to Golden Phoenix Exotica (goldenphoenixexotica dot com) for details concerning bugs.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara padded out to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker with the ease of practice and the confidence that its quiet sputter wouldn't wake Grissom. Her muscles were stiffening again, so she filled a glass of water and swallowed another pain pill. Normally she would eschew such things--they fuzzed her brain--but she was reasonably sure that Grissom wasn't about to let her go to work.

Normally, too, she would fight the idea of staying home. But she _did_ hurt, and she hadn't gotten much sleep. _And besides, the case isn't urgent. _

And, deeper inside, she didn't want to fight with him even over something so minor. Her guilt still burned a little, even though she knew he'd forgiven her for her mistake the night before.

_It's only one._ The recommended dosage was two pills; one would take the edge off without muddling her head too much.

Sara rolled her shoulders carefully, guarding against the pull of her bruises, and couldn't help smirking a little. _The endorphins will help._

Grissom had been very gentle, a few hours before; in fact, it had taken quite an effort to convince him that she was well enough to make love. But after his astonishing question--

_Well, he didn't exactly **ask**, now that I think about it. Not that it matters._ Sara wrapped her arms around herself, still a little dizzy with surprised delight. She would take Grissom any way that she could get him, but the idea of marrying him was satisfying far beyond the practical considerations.

It wasn't that she doubted him. Sara had been certain of Grissom's devotion from the moment he had wept while apologizing to her. But he was still not convinced that _she_ meant to stay; last night had proven that. _Promising him that I'll stick around for the rest of our lives…maybe that'll do it. _

And if not, well, she would just have to keep convincing him.

A step behind her made her turn. "You're supposed to be sleeping," she scolded Grissom gently.

He scrubbed at his hair and gave her a drowsy grin. "I was. Then I woke up." He tugged the belt of his robe a little tighter. "I could say the same for you."

Sara shrugged. "I slept for a while." The coffeemaker gurgled to a stop, and she pulled down two mugs.

"Well, you…I'd rather you didn't go to work today." Grissom opened the refrigerator for the half-and-half.

"You mean you're not going to keep me prisoner if I do decide to go?"

Grissom gave her a dour look, and Sara couldn't hold in a snicker. "I'd already decided to stay home, actually. But just for today."

His shoulders relaxed, and Grissom shut the fridge door. "Thank you." He pushed the small carton across the counter and opened a cupboard. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, speaking more to the shelf in front of him than to her.

Sara, pouring coffee, frowned absently. "I don't think so. I don't have any meetings scheduled today."

"That's not what I meant." Grissom closed the cupboard door, and as Sara set the pot back into the machine he put his arms around her from behind. Sara leaned back into his embrace, but before she could fold her arms over his he had taken her injured left hand in a careful grip. Sara felt her mouth drop open as something cool slid over her ring finger.

The gauze didn't quite hide it. Sara stared down at it, the white bandage, Grissom's strong fingers; the sparkle and gleam, red, white and golden. She hadn't _forgotten,_ exactly, she'd just put it from her mind, and she'd been distracted last night…

"I know it's patriarchal and chauvinistic and all that, Sara," Grissom said quietly behind her, and his voice was a little hoarse. "But I just want to…"

He trailed off. Sara took one more second to absorb the ring, its delicate beauty and the achievement and love it represented, and then turned in his arms.

Grissom's face was flushed, and his forehead was creased with worry. "If you don't like it--"

Very carefully, very gently, Sara took his face between her hands and kissed him silent.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Grissom asked a little while later, as Sara poured them both second servings.

She kept her grin to herself. "Whatever the guys are bringing, I guess," she said demurely, and handed him his mug.

Grissom stared at her blankly for a moment before comprehension dawned, and shook his head. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"

"Gotcha." Sara added half-and-half to her own cup and stirred. "We have about enough time to get dressed before they turn up."

"I could cancel--" he began, but Sara shook her own head.

"Why? It's not like you have to keep an eye on me, Gil. I've got a couple of books I want to catch up on, and if I feel like a nap, I doubt you guys get very rowdy." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Just open the sliding door to let the smoke out."

Grissom rolled his eyes, but relaxed. The Thursday morning poker crew brought not only breakfast but a selection of fine cigars, the only time in the week that most of the players indulged. Grissom usually set a box fan in the back door to clear the air afterwards, so that just a ghost of fragrance remained by the time Sara got home. "All right. You could try to sleep some more, you know."

She shrugged. "I might. Now, are you going to get dressed, or are you going to play in your bathrobe?"

Grissom snorted.

Within half an hour they were both dressed, and Grissom had carefully cleaned and redressed Sara's palm for her. Looking at the wound made her a little queasy; it was the red of outraged tissue, but showed no signs of infection. Grissom himself was a little white about the lips by the time he rebandaged her hand, but Sara suspected it was more from emotional distress. The feather-light kiss he placed on the gauze, though, made her smile.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked in a low voice.

Sara slid into his arms, holding him tightly for a long moment and feeling very, very lucky to be just there. "I'm fine. It could have been worse, but it wasn't."

Grissom exhaled slowly, squeezing her a bit before releasing her. "If you need anything, say so," he said sternly, and Sara gave him her best grin.

"I will."

The doorbell rang, and she hopped off the bathroom counter where she'd perched and started gathering up the medical debris. "I'll get that," Grissom said, stopping her. "Can you answer the door? I need to finish up here."

"Sure." Sara gave him a last quick kiss and went out to open the front door. Nick was on the other side, balancing a bakery tray of pastries and bagels, and he grinned when he saw her.

"Hey, Sar, whatcha doing home today?"

She stood aside to let him in. "Taking a personal day. Geez, how many people are you expecting?"

Nick shrugged and strode over to put the large tray on the breakfast bar. "We all eat like pigs, so we take turns bringing munchies." He popped off the clear lid. "I think Greg's bringing the chips and dip."

Sara snickered, and chose a bagel. The tray included tubs of cream cheese; as she opened one, Nick frowned. "Hey, what happened to your hand?"

She glanced down; the fresh gauze hid the ring from his view. "I just cut it at work. Nothing major. Hand me a knife, would you?"

The answer seemed to satisfy Nick, or perhaps the ring of the doorbell distracted him. He went to let in Brass and Vega, who had apparently arrived together. Grissom emerged from the bedroom, and in the chatter of greeting and the bustle of setting up Brass took Sara aside. "How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

She patted his arm with her good hand, the fingers of the other still encumbered by the bagel. "I'm okay, Jim, really. A little sore this morning, but that's it."

He nodded. "Good. I thought Grissom might want to skip this week, but he never called. You two…are you doing okay?"

Brass, ever observant, would have noted Grissom's tension the night before, Sara realized. An imp of mischief seized her, and Sara transferred the bagel to her other hand so she could flip the wounded one over.

It amused her no end to watch Brass' eyebrows slowly go up as he looked down at the ring. He studied it for a moment, and she glanced up over his bent head to meet Grissom's eyes; her fiancé winked at her across the room, and she smiled back. Then Brass laughed softly.

"The genius finally got a clue, huh? Felicitations, doll." He leaned in to drop a kiss on her cheek.

"Thanks." Sara couldn't help another quick glance at it herself; she'd never seen a style quite like the ring's fluidity, but she loved it.

"You going to join us?" Brass asked in a more normal tone, as Nick opened the door to let Greg in.

Sara shook her head. "Not this week, maybe some other time." She enjoyed the occasional hand of poker, but the weekly meet was something of a male ritual, and she didn't want to disturb the balance.

Brass nodded. "Take it easy, then. You know--"

Whatever he was about to say got lost as Greg bounded up, spilling over with energy. "Sara! Are you going to play today too?"

"How much coffee did you _have,_ Sanders?" Brass grumbled without rancor.

Sara, laughing, shook her head at Greg. "I'm not playing, I'm going to retreat to my room and spend the day doing secret woman things. No--" as Greg assumed an overly hopeful expression-- "you can't come along."

He pouted dramatically, making both Sara and Brass chuckle. "Okay, okay. C'mon, Brass-man, I've got my eye on your last bonus."

Greg headed for the table, which Grissom had pulled away from the wall and surrounded with chairs. Sara laughed again. "He's definitely hyper today. Is he actually any good at this?"

Brass snorted. "Actually, yeah, we have to watch our backs. Wish me luck."

Sara watched as he stole Greg's chosen chair and Grissom opened the door to admit Warrick and Doc Robbins, and then she headed back to the bedroom, still smiling. She wasn't about to go around telling everyone that she and Grissom were engaged, but there was one other person who deserved to know right away.

Ed was at work, as she expected, but she knew he wouldn't answer the phone if he didn't have time for a conversation. His "Yo" was only slightly distracted, and Sara, lying back on the bed, smiled at the ceiling.

"Hey, Ed. How's it going?"

He sighed. "Remind me why I work for the government again?"

She snickered. "Because they let you do what you want and pay you for it. What's the matter?"

"Budget woes, nothing new. What's up? You actually have free time at work?"

"I'm not at work," Sara admitted. "I was in a car accident last night coming back from a scene--I'm _fine, _just a little banged up--and I'm taking the day off."

Ed hissed slightly, but didn't scold. "You'd better. Banged up _how?_"

Sara lifted her bandaged hand so she could see it. "Bruises from the seatbelt, and I cut my hand. It needed five stitches, but I didn't even lose much blood." She sighed, and lowered her arm again. "See, I'm telling you now so you can't scold me later for _not_ telling you."

"Good girl," he said with asperity, and then softened his tone. "I'm glad you're okay, sis. Was anyone else hurt?"

"Just the guy who hit us," she answered, a little dry. "But he'll recover."

Ed blew out his breath. "Cosmic justice?"

She pursed her lips. "I dunno. But I have other news."

"Oh yeah? Give."

Sara grinned at the ceiling, feeling again the incredulous joy. "We're going to get married."

Her brother's whoop made her jerk the phone away from her ear for a second, but didn't reduce her smile. "About _time!_" Ed crowed. "Congratulations! So when is it?"

Sara chuffed in amused protest. "You want a date already? He just asked me, Ed."

"There's no time like the present," Ed pointed out hopefully. "We could hop a plane, be there this weekend…"

Laughing, Sara rolled her eyes. "Ed, remember that advice I gave you about planning a wedding? It applies for me too."

"Damn. Okay," he conceded. "Can I tell the kids?"

"I'll call them tonight. No spilling the beans." Sara snickered at his "aww". "You can tell Gracie, though."

"You betcha. Seriously, Sar, I'm happy for you."

"I'd never have guessed," she teased gently. "Thanks, Ed."

"For what?"

Recalling the memory of a hasty cross-country flight, Sara smiled. "Good advice."

**x**

A few hours later, she left the bed and Grissom's sleeping form and tiptoed out to the front door, passing the remnants of the poker game on the way. The doorbell sounded again as she reached the door, and Sara shut off the alarm system before opening it.

The delivery man outside was nearly hidden behind a huge, extravagant bouquet of flowers, blossoms of many colors rioting out of a heavy vase. Sara signed for it, somewhat bemused, and set the massive thing down next to the pastry tray, which now bore only one drying danish.

The card was almost hidden in the foliage. Sara opened the small envelope, enjoying the scent of the flowers but confused by their delivery. Grissom's gifts of flowers--he'd resumed the Monday morning bouquets, and occasionally brought her other blossoms--were generally elegant and restrained, not…explosive.

But while the handwriting on the card was the careful, impersonal print of a florist, the message was pure Ed. _Congrats again, and tell him from me he'd better keep you happy--he'll know why. Love, Ed._

Sara grinned, put the card back in the envelope, and reminded herself to call her niece and nephew before her brother exploded.

**xxxx**

Grissom peered through the glass, trying to come to a decision. _So many choices, and all of them enticing._ There were blonde beauties here, brunettes, raven-haired charmers; they all had long shapely legs, rounded backsides, and bold demeanors. One had even strolled up to the glass and was eyeing him back. _It's going to be hard to choose. _

A hand touched his back. "Is she flirting with you?" Sara asked in an amused voice, and Grissom smirked at the glass.

"You're anthropomorphizing, Sara. The idea of a female tarantula flirting is inaccurate, since it is the males that seek out their mates, and as for cross-species interest--"

Sara whapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Fine, Gil, she's hoping you have a snack in your pocket and you're not just happy to see her. I'm going to go look at the lizards."

Grissom swallowed his chuckle and accepted her kiss on his temple. "Okay, I'll be here for a while."

Sara wandered off, and Grissom went back to his contemplation of the tarantula display. They each had their own terrarium, and he mentally knocked some tanks off his list and remembered others for closer examination as he made his way along the shelves. The exotic pet dealer that he favored for his bug purchases was over an hour's drive out of town, but the trip was worth it; Grissom knew that the business was reputable and took good care of its merchandise. He'd finally decided to make use of the gift certificate Sara had given him for Christmas, and was not surprised at all when she chose to accompany him.

Grissom glanced over his shoulder; Sara was talking with one of the employees, a skinny young man in a smock who was gesturing expressively with both hands. A small iguana was clinging to the lapel of his smock, looking not at all disturbed, and seeing the smile on Sara's face, Grissom wondered if they would be returning home with a reptile as well as an arachnid. _Well, there's plenty of space for another terrarium. _

He turned back to his contemplation. He'd had a number of spiders over the years, and his last one had died of old age almost five years before. For a time he'd even had two, one at work and one at home, but his work schedule would soon be too erratic to keep a pet in his office. _Besides, it's Abdul's office too. And not everybody wants a spider the size of a plum on their reference shelf, even in a cage. _

Grissom had narrowed his choices down to three by the time Sara returned; she was smiling, and wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet was a vividly colored snake in bands of red, white, and black. "It's a red milk snake," Sara said, stroking the slowly pulsing coils.

Grissom took a moment to appreciate the picture she made, her gentle expression, the sparkle of her ring as her hand moved. Her palm was nearly healed now, a week after the accident, bearing just a line as vivid a red as the snake. "He likes you."

Sara made a wry face. "He likes me because I'm warm. But he's gorgeous."

Grissom reached out to run a finger along the smooth scales. "Going to take him home with us?"

"Nah, I just like looking at them." Sara curled her hand gently around the snake's body just behind its head; snake faces are not made for expression, but Grissom fancied that the creature looked…content. "Have you decided on the lucky lady?"

Grissom pointed at the contenders, two Curly Haired and one Grand Canyon Black. "One of these three."

Sara leaned in for a closer look, then shrugged. "No offense, but they look kind of the same to me."

"I guess that's the type I'm interested in this time, then," Grissom agreed.

"Why not get two, then?"

Grissom shook his head. "They're solitary, for the most part. And one is plenty for now." He looked down. "Hey, your friend is trying to escape."

Sara glanced at her arm and took a firmer grip on the snake, which had apparently decided that it wanted to explore the floor. "I'll go give him back."

By the time she had returned, Grissom was holding one of his choices, the Grand Canyon Black, handed out to him by another employee. The spider sat placidly in the palm of his hand, unalarmed, and Grissom found that he'd decided.

The employee, a stout woman, put the tarantula carefully into a traveling carton, and Sara paid for her and the mealworms that Grissom also selected. As they left the store, Grissom pulled her gently to a halt and kissed her. "Thank you."

She gave him a pleased smile. "Merry Christmas. Are you going to send a picture to your mom?"

Grissom cocked his head. "That's not a bad idea, actually." He called Rosalie at least twice a week, and she had asked him a couple of times whether he'd used Sara's gift yet. "It'll certainly amuse her."

"Does she like tarantulas?" Sara asked, unlocking her car as they approached.

"In photos," Grissom admitted, making her laugh. "Actually, she doesn't mind them as long as they're behind glass, but I could never get her to hold one."

"They do take some getting used to."

Grissom contemplated Rosalie as Sara drove them back. She'd been overjoyed when he'd told her that Sara had agreed to marry him, and had immediately bombarded him with plans and suggestions, not all of which were practical. He had gently deflected most of them by telling his mother that Sara was in charge of wedding decisions, but the truth was that they hadn't really discussed anything yet. _We have time. _

Sara helped him set up the terrarium when they got home, and watched as he gently transferred the spider into its new home. The arachnid hid under a piece of bark almost immediately, and Grissom flattened the carton for recycling as he watched. "She needs time to get used to the environment."

Sara nodded. "Makes sense. What are you going to call her?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe Pu-keh-eh."

Sara blinked. "Um, what?"

Grissom smiled. "She's a figure in a Havasupai legend--she floated in a box on the Colorado in the Grand Canyon, and later became the grandmother of humanity."

"Well, that fits," Sara said, laughing, then winked at him. "You can call her Pooky for short."

Grissom rolled his eyes.

**See Chapter 36**


	36. Chapter 36

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

To Grissom, the summer seemed to fly past. Time had never usually weighed heavy on his hands before, except on certain occasions when he was waiting for lab results, but he'd gotten to the point where he rarely sensed the passage of days. Now he found himself savoring each one, and occasionally wishing he could slow time down a bit; there was always a small secret fear that their present happiness couldn't last. Not that he thought Sara was just going to pack up and leave him, not now, but he knew better than most the tragedies that can strike out of nowhere.

Their friends found out about their engagement, of course; neither Grissom nor Sara actually mentioned it to anyone else, but they met Catherine, Nick and Warrick for drinks the Saturday after their trip to the pet store, and Catherine spotted the ring about three seconds after they'd all sat down. Sara patiently endured the squealing; Warrick raised his brows at Grissom, who smirked back. He just couldn't help feeling a little smug.

Catherine insisted on bestowing a hug on Sara and a kiss on Grissom's cheek, which Sara took in good part and Grissom allowed; Nick and Warrick contented themselves with congratulations after Sara's glare dissuaded them from kissing _her_. "You two are such rats," Catherine said cheerfully, settling back in her seat next to Warrick. "How long, and you didn't _tell_ anyone?"

"Just over a week," Sara protested good-naturedly, and Grissom put his hand on her leg under the table to reassure her. "We didn't want it all over the landscape right away."

"Well, now that we know we'll have to throw you a party--"

"_No party,_" Grissom and Sara chorused in union, making Nick laugh.

"Be good or we won't invite you to the wedding, Cath," Grissom added. Catherine snorted but subsided.

Warrick put his arm over the back of Catherine's seat. "Why don't you tell them your news?"

Nick snickered, and Catherine gave Warrick a harmless glare. "_My_ news?"

Warrick shrugged easily. "Okay, our news."

Sara looked speculative. Grissom cocked his head and regarded his old friend. "What's this, Catherine?"

She pretended to pout, but a smile defeated her. "Warrick and I are engaged too."

Grissom blinked, truly surprised. Sara leaned over and thwapped Warrick lightly on the arm. "Talk about keeping secrets! It's _Catherine_ you're engaged to?"

Warrick took Catherine's hand in his. "Yep. We're keeping it under the radar for the moment; the only other two people who know are Nick and Greg. And Linds, of course."

"Warrick's due a promotion soon," Catherine explained. "When we're on the same level, we'll get married."

"You're still going to keep the supervisor position, though, right Cath?" Nick asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Damn straight," she said, grinning. "The Sheriff may give me a little trouble, but we're not breaking any rules, and our solve rate has Isabeau on our side."

Grissom shook his head. "I wouldn't bet against you. Congratulations, both of you."

As the five of them sipped drinks and chatted, he wondered a little at how Warrick and Catherine had managed to keep their secret. Warrick's discretion he didn't doubt, but being engaged seemed like something the more expressive Catherine would have trouble concealing. _Still, they managed it,_ he conceded. _I'm not the only one who's learned over the years. _

And in the end he was happy for them. _They both deserve it. And…it's been a long time coming._

Almost as long as he and Sara, in fact. As if she guessed the tenor of his thoughts, Sara's hand slid into his, though she didn't turn away from her cheerful argument with Nick, and Grissom held it tightly and gloried in his blessings.

**xxxx**

Early in August, as they were washing dishes on a sleepy Sunday afternoon, Sara spoke up. "Ed and company are headed out to L.A. next week. They want us to come visit soon after that."

Once, Grissom might have questioned the "us", but no longer. "For how long? I've got a few days of vacation."

"I'm thinking a long weekend," Sara said, taking a pot lid from him and drying it. "That'll give us time to mess around with the kids, and time to visit your mom too."

"She'll be delighted." Grissom rinsed a pot. "Want to introduce the kids to her? We could all go out to lunch."

Sara blinked. "Are you sure? They can get pretty rambunctious. As you know."

Grissom shrugged. "She won't mind, she likes children. And it'll give Grace and your brother a little time alone together."

She snickered. "Sold! Joey'll be excited to try out his ASL." Kimmy's interest in the language had faded after a couple of lessons, but Joseph had been fascinated, and Grissom had made an effort to teach him a little when they had time. "Do you want to drive, or fly?"

Grissom considered. "Let's fly this time. It takes about the same amount of time total, but if we're only going to be there a few days, we'll have more energy." He unplugged the sink and rinsed his hands.

Sara dried the pot and put it away. "Sounds good. Let me know your schedule and I'll make the reservations." She hung the dishtowel neatly on its rack. "Okay, we finished everything on the list for today, right? Where is it?"

Grissom picked up the scrap of paper lying on the breakfast bar, to which he had added something when she wasn't looking. "Not quite, there's one thing left."

She frowned, and angled her head for a look at it. "What is it?"

As she read, Grissom assumed an innocent expression, but it dissolved into a smirk the moment she started laughing. "You really think we can do that?"

"We'll never know unless we try," Grissom pointed out cheerfully.

Sara put her hands on her hips and looked at him consideringly, then pursed her lips, merry-eyed. "Why not."

Delighted, Grissom decided to surprise her, and crouched so that he could lift her up over his shoulder in a piratical carry. Sara shrieked and then laughed, trying not to kick. "Gil!"

"No time like the present," he pointed out, and carried off his prize to the bedroom.

**xxxx**

Sara was almost sure that Grissom was going to miss the flight, but he came striding into the gate waiting area right at the first boarding call, frowning with irritation. Sara smiled with relief and handed him his ticket and carry-on, and they joined the boarding line.

"At least it was fresh," Sara said in a low voice, referring to the last-minute dead body on the south side of town. "You don't reek."

Grissom snorted, still annoyed with Brass to judge by his grumbling, but she could tell he was beginning to relax. "What was he going to do?" Sara asked. "Night was tapped out and Nick said that half of Days had court this morning."

"I know, I know," Grissom muttered, his rancor easing. "But next time he can process the body himself."

Sara snickered, and Grissom smiled reluctantly back. She knew quite well that he would never walk away from a case where he was truly needed, but he had to vent a little steam. "I'm just glad we packed yesterday," he added.

"It did make things easier," Sara agreed as they handed in their tickets. Grissom had even gotten a few hours of sleep before Brass' call had woken them both.

They found their seats and stowed their bags; Grissom smothered a yawn as the plane began backing away from the gate. "D'you mind if I take a nap?"

Sara refrained from rolling her eyes. "Of course not. I'll wake you when we start descending."

Grissom gave her one of the sweet smiles that always made her breath catch, wadded up his jacket as a pillow between his head and the window, and took her hand in his. "Just until I fall asleep," he muttered, and closed his eyes.

Sara swallowed, and resisted the urge to kiss him. Grissom toyed with the ring on her finger for a moment before his muscles relaxed, and though the latest issue of the Environmental Forensics Journal waited for her in her bag, she couldn't bring herself to pull her hand free until long after the plane had reached cruising altitude.

The flight wasn't long; Sara shook Grissom awake as the plane started down, and he rubbed his eyes until she handed him a bottle of water from her bag. "Feel better?"

"A little," he conceded. "Greg keeps going on about power naps, but he also drinks those energy concoctions."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Greg's going to blow out like an overinflated tire one of these days."

The landing was smooth. As promised, Ed was waiting for them as they emerged from behind the security barriers; knowing what was coming, Sara braced for the rush, and found her arms full of joyfully shrieking niece. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Grissom's startled expression with amusement when Joseph gave him a similar full-frontal assault-hug, and grinned when he returned the embrace; a moment later Kimmy gave way to her brother, but turned suddenly shy and didn't offer Grissom a hug. He took this in calm stride, just giving her a warm nod.

Ed, who had let his offspring take the lead, came up to shake Grissom's hand and hug his sister enthusiastically. "It's good to see you," he said in Sara's ear, and she laughed and shoved at his shoulders.

"It's good to see you too, but I kinda like breathing, you know." Ed released her with a smirk, and slapped Grissom's shoulder lightly.

"C'mon. There's burgers and potato salad waiting at home, and yes I got veggie burgers."

Sara, whose hands had been claimed by her small relations, laughed again. "I never doubted you, Ed."

The trip to the house was fraught with traffic, but to Sara's assessing eye Grissom seemed quite comfortable. He took the minivan's front passenger seat and almost immediately became embroiled in discussion with Ed, while Sara sat in the back seat so Joseph and Kimmy could tell her all about the move and their new neighborhood.

It felt very good to be back among her family. Sara immersed herself in tales of palm trees, big bugs, new rooms, new neighbors, horses, trucks, planes, and school plans. Kimmy asked to see the ring, and Sara let her examine it without removing it; of course Joey had to follow suit, but he wasn't really interested. Kimmy pronounced it "neeeeat," though, which pleased Sara for no good reason.

The house was, as promised, close to the Whitney campus, in a neighborhood that looked very Midwestern except for the palm trees. It was a little smaller than Ed's place in Virginia; but, Sara admitted, the family no longer needed a studio-cum-extra bedroom. As soon as she was out of the car, Kimmy had her hand. "You gotta see my new room!"

"I have to--" Sara began, pointing towards the rear of the minivan, but Ed waved her on.

"I got it, sis, you go ahead."

Joseph grabbed Grissom's hand and towed him along towards the house, thwarting his similar move towards the luggage, and Sara gave in and let herself be pulled indoors.

The house was all on one level, and Sara noted that the open living room was pleasantly cluttered even though it still had a few boxes piled on one side. Then it was down a short hall, Joey and Grissom not far behind, and into a sunny yellow room that still smelled a little like fresh paint. Everything was in place; Sara oohed and admired as Kimmy proudly showed off all the aspects, including the ever-so-slightly crooked curtains that Grace had helped her sew. The wide window looked out onto a back yard with a somewhat shaggy lawn; from that, Sara deduced that Ed had about as much time as she'd predicted to spend on yard work--that is to say, none.

"Daddy even let me paint the closet," Kimmy added, opening the door for inspection. Sara peered in, and pronounced it good. The room was relatively tidy, everything with its own place, and Sara noticed that Ed had finally given in and bought Kimmy the canopy bed she'd been begging for.

Joseph's room, when Sara got that far, also had a fresh coat of paint, and also showed the design of a room consciously set up rather than grown into. It was much messier than Kimmy's, with Legos, cars, and whatnot scattered all over the carpet, but that was Joey; he too had curtains, dinosaur ones, that were much more crooked than Kimmy's but that he proudly declared he had sewn as well.

Eventually she and Grissom were released to see the rest of the house. Ed's bedroom was chaos; the guest bedroom lacked fresh paint but was otherwise ready. They found Ed in the kitchen, which was also ready for use; Sara admired the stove set in the island and the elbow room in general.

"You hungry?" Ed asked, his voice slightly muffled, as he was bent over to peer into the refrigerator. "'Cause I can start up the grill any time."

Sara glanced at Grissom, who cocked his head to indicate his willingness to follow her lead and then put his arm around her waist. "Sure, that sounds good," Sara replied, relaxing against Grissom.

Ed straightened, hands full of packages, and grinned at them. "Da--man, you two look good together."

Grissom chuckled at Ed's near-slip. "I take it the frog bank moved with you?"

Ed rolled his eyes and dumped the packages on the counter. "Oh yeah--can't do without ice cream, you know. Though the kids have discovered gelato." He shuddered ostentatiously. "They don't _make_ Rocky Road gelato."

"Poor you, raising a couple of budding Angelinos," Sara teased. "Hey, what can we do to help with lunch?"

The meal was a merry affair on the back sun porch, both kids still full of stories and Ed giving hilarious character sketches of his new colleagues when his children flagged. Kimmy pestered Sara with questions about Las Vegas, and Joey wanted to hear all about the new tarantula, whom Grissom had eventually named Araña.

"So what's the plan again?" Ed asked as Kimmy cleared the table and Joseph pored over a book about treehouses.

Sara and Grissom exchanged glances. "Well, tomorrow you're going to show me Whitney, and Gil's going to go see his mom and take her out to lunch," Sara answered.

"And on Sunday we were thinking that maybe the kids would like to have dinner with her," Grissom added.

At Ed's slightly surprised expression, Sara poked him gently with one foot. "We'd be abandoning you and Gracie, of course, but I'm sure you'll be able to find _something_ to do."

Ed's ears pinkened slightly, but he just snorted. "We might, at that."

After lunch Sara was inveigled into a lengthy game of Monopoly, leaving Grissom and Ed free to talk in low voices at the other end of the big living room. "Isn't Joseph a little young for that game?" Grissom asked, curious, as he watched the three of them set up the board.

Ed shrugged. "He says he's old enough. We usually skip the bidding and mortgaging bits to make it a little simpler, stuff like that; it saves arguments."

"I always liked the shoe best," Grissom murmured, remembering a few games decades before.

Ed laughed. "You could join them."

Grissom shook his head, not wanting to divert Sara's attention from the children. "No thanks. Playing with Sara is an educational experience--I prefer Trivial Pursuit, as I'm less likely to have my…ah…backside handed to me."

"Ohhh yeah." Ed leaned back in his chair, his face lit with memory and mischief as he regarded his little sister. "Yeah, 'competitive' is too weak a word for Sara once she gets going."

Remembering certain recent incidents, Grissom agreed. He hadn't realized that there was such a thing as strip Scrabble, for instance…nor that it could be so much fun to lose.

The players were choosing their game pieces, and Grissom's attention was suddenly caught by Kimmy, whose expression of concentration was so like her aunt's that Grissom felt slightly displaced, as though he were in a dream. Then she selected the thimble, and the expression dissolved; but Grissom stared at her, transfixed, until Ed waved a lean hand in front of his eyes. "Hey?"

"Sorry." Grissom turned back to the younger man, a little dazed. "I just--for a second, I saw Sara in her face."

Ed chuckled. "Weird, isn't it? Most of the time Kimmy looks just like her mom, but every once in a while it's like looking at Sara when she was little."

"What was she like?" Grissom asked, curious. Sara had never said much about her childhood, and even then any stories she told were by necessity from her viewpoint.

Ed shrugged again, an easy gesture. "Pretty much the way she is now--curious, serious, and driven as all heck." He rolled his eyes at the substituted word. "She always had to find out how, where, why, didn't matter what it was. She took apart my pocket transistor radio when she was nine--and put it back together again, believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe it," Grissom said, amused. "Did it still work?"

"If I held it upside down, sure," Ed said with a wry grin. "She spent a summer raising a whole garden, once. I even caught her out there one night trying to stake seedlings after Dad…after it got run over." The flicker of his eyes was not towards Sara but his children, and with a pang Grissom realized that Ed was probably censoring the story so that Joey and Kimmy would not hear about their grandfather's behavior. "She put all her time into that thing, and then the next summer she didn't look at the garden once. She'd found out all she wanted to know."

That didn't quite match the Sara that Grissom knew, but he reflected that a child might easily believe that there were limits to knowledge. "Usually the only way I could get her to take time off was to attend some kind of class or seminar."

"Bingo." Ed snapped his fingers. "She got through high school in three years and read practically everything the library had to offer in the sciences, not that there was a whole lot. I sometimes think that if she'd been just a year or two younger, she'd have been the next Bill Gates. But computer classes didn't hit our schools until we'd already graduated."

Grissom shook his head. "I sometimes wonder what the science of physics missed when she went into criminalistics instead."

"Who knows?" Ed regarded her with a fond smile as she rolled dice and moved her token. "But she loves what she does, that's the important part."

**x**

"So am I bunking with Kimmy, or what?" Sara asked her brother after dinner, helping him wash the dishes and listening to the shouts of the kids, Grace, and Grissom tossing a Frisbee around the backyard. Grace had joined them for dinner, which she did more often than not, according to Kimmy.

He gave her a slightly offended look. "Noooo. You guys get the guest room. It's got a double bed."

Sara raised her brows at him. "Yeah? What happened to appearances?"

Ed shrugged. "You're engaged."

"And that makes it okay? What if we decide to break it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Like _that's_ going to happen. Look, do you really want to bed down on Kimmy's floor? She still talks in her sleep."

"Nah, that's okay. So does that mean that you and Gracie get to share a room when she comes over?"

"No, we're…I haven't asked her yet, and keep your voice down," Ed hissed, half-annoyed, half amused at her teasing.

"Better do it soon," Sara admonished.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tell her about the time you proposed to Miranda Helgasdottir in fourth grade," Sara threatened with a grin.

Ed's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Would too."

Ed cupped his hands in the dishwater and threw some at her, but Sara dodged the splash, laughing, and snapped him smartly on the rear with her dishtowel. Ed's howl of mock rage filled the kitchen. "Oh, you're in for it now!"

Sara shrieked for effect and fled through the house, Ed in hot pursuit. She made it to the backyard, but the resultant tickle fight ended up involving both kids, with Grissom and Gracie applauding from the sidelines. Finally all the combatants collapsed in the grass, panting and giggling. Gracie and Grissom exchanged glances, and without discussion came to lie down too.

They all watched the sky as the light gradually faded and the blue overhead deepened and grew luminous with sunset. Eventually Ed spoke lazily, making his son giggle since Joey's head was on his abdomen and bounced with each word. "It's getting too dark for Frisbee."

"I saw a luminous one for sale once," Grissom replied, equally lazy. He had taken Sara's hand in his, and she felt extremely peaceful, cradled in the grass with her lover and her family. "But I'm not sure how one is supposed to see one's target in the dark."

"Glow-in-the-dark T-shirts?" Gracie suggested from the other side of Ed.

This prompted a range of ideas from the practical--glowing necklaces--to the silly--making beeping noises to track by. Finally, as the stars emerged, Ed stretched and yawned.

"I don't know about you guys, but there's some cookies in the house calling my name."

Joey and Kimmy bounced to their feet and ran inside. Gracie gave a theatrically groaning Ed a hand up from the ground, and they followed, but when Sara went to sit up Grissom rolled over and held her gently down.

"Are you really that hungry for dessert?" he whispered, smirking a little.

Sara chuckled, and slid her arms up over his shoulders, pulling him down. "Depends on what's on the menu."

His lips found hers with a murmur of pleasure. They shared long slow soft kisses in the dark for a while, just enjoying each other. Faintly Sara heard Kimmy asking where she was, and Gracie's reply--"She's still out with Doctor G. They need some alone time."

_Thanks, Grace._ Such simple bliss it was, Sara found, and yet it had been impossible for so long. She shivered under the touch of Grissom's mouth, and he lifted his head, concerned. "Are you cold?"

"Nah."

Nonetheless, he shifted to his back next to her, putting one arm under her head, and they watched the stars' glory above them, simply and blissfully content.

**See Chapter 37**


	37. Chapter 37

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**DijitaruHana drew a beautiful picture based on this story; it's at my site on this chapter page, see link above. Thank you so much! I'm still grinning. **

**Yes, the scrap of poetry in this chapter is not punctuated correctly, but since it's being spoken, I reserve the right. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom woke alone in the guest room bed. Light was peeking around the curtains, and he stretched and yawned, wondering where Sara had gone. Then he heard her voice, faint, from another part of the house, and was reassured.

There was no guest bath, but the hall bathroom still had plenty of hot water. Grissom washed and dressed and wandered out to the kitchen, realizing he'd slept almost ten hours. Only Kimmy was in sight, pouring herself a glass of juice.

"Good morning," Grissom greeted her, and she waved back, drinking from the cup. "Where is everybody?"

"Aunt Sara's in Dad's bedroom helping him with his bookshelves, and Joey's outside. Gracie isn't here yet," Kimmy reported. "Do you want some juice?"

The substance was so purple it was leaving a lavender mustache on Kimmy's upper lip. "No, thanks," Grissom said politely.

"Y'welcome," she said automatically, topped up her glass, and put the juice back. "Aunt Sara said to tell you you can feed yourself."

"Okay." Grissom looked around the kitchen, amused. "Where do you keep the cereal?"

Kimmy pointed, and after a moment's thought added, "The dishes in the washer are clean."

"Thanks." Grissom made his selection from an array of cold cereals and found milk in the fridge; by the time he shut the appliance, Kimmy was gone with her drink in hand. There was no coffee in the machine, but Grissom decided that he didn't really need any.

He rinsed the bowl when he was done and left it in the sink, and went in search of his fiancée. He found her in the welter of boxes that was Ed's room, cheerfully arguing with her brother over the placement of his big bookcase as they put the shelves back into it. Grissom paused for a moment in the doorway to observe them--their obvious affection, their similar sharp minds. It was illustrative of Ed's personality, Grissom noted, that while his children's rooms were already painted and finished his own was still in process. The comfort of Joey and Kimmy was much higher on the man's priority list than his own.

"Need some help?" Grissom asked at last. They both looked up with smiles, and Sara held out a hand; Grissom picked his way among the boxes to reach and kiss her. He kept it brief, given their audience, but he wasn't about to start his day without a kiss.

"What time are you leaving for your mom's?" Sara asked, and Grissom shrugged.

"Probably about four. It shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes to get there."

"If you want to help, man, you can take the other end of this thing and help me goose it down about two feet," Ed said, waving at the bookcase.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Ed, it's fine where it is!"

"I want it further down," Ed insisted, going to one end. Grissom, amused, went to the other and helped the younger man lift. Sara huffed lightly, threw up her hands, and opened a box of books.

They spent a peaceful couple of hours fixing up Ed's bookcases. The boxes revealed a taste as eclectic as Grissom's own; almost half the volumes had something to do with biology, but they included subjects such as the philosophy of science; the rest of them were a mix of art, history, and comedy. On reflection, Grissom realized that none of the selections really surprised him. They all fit the man exactly.

Lunch wasn't a formal affair this weekend, Grissom found; people just made sandwiches when they got hungry. Nor was there much rein on selections--he watched with mingled fascination and revulsion as Joseph constructed a sandwich of jelly and potato chips, and Sara, with a wink, spread marshmallow fluff on her peanut butter. He himself settled for a more conservative ham sandwich.

As he finished the last crumb, Joseph came up with his Frisbee in hand. "Will you play with me, Dr. G?"

He had grass stains on his knees and jelly on his mouth, and despite the heat that Grissom knew was lurking outside, he was hard to resist. "Okay. As long as we don't have to run."

Joey giggled, and led him outside.

The back yard was bordered by trees, so they both picked shaded areas and began spinning the disk back and forth. Joseph was fast and coordinated, obviously practiced, and Grissom found himself enjoying the mild challenge of snag and release.

Joseph had begun chattering the moment Grissom had agreed to play, and told Grissom all about the neighbors, the neighbors' dogs, the birds that lived in the palm trees, his new bed, and the treehouse that Ed had promised to build for him. "An' Kimmy won't be allowed in it! But that's 'cause she doesn't like to climb."

Every little brother's fantasy, Grissom judged, and sent the Frisbee back with a snap, mulling over the way Ed worked so hard to give his children not only the security and love he'd lacked, but the goodies and small pleasures that made their lives fun. _And somehow he avoids spoiling them in the process. An admirable achievement._

It occurred to him with a mild shock that it had been almost exactly a year since he'd found Joseph huddled beneath the amusement park's hedge. As he fielded a wild toss, Grissom looked again at the boy. He was half a head taller than last August, and had celebrated a birthday just before coming West.

Grissom knew that Kimmy had suffered more from her mother's death; Joey had been too young to really remember much. No one survived childhood without a few scars, Grissom knew that, but somehow he didn't think that Joseph would get many of his from his family.

_Lucky kid._ Grissom let fly one over Joey's head, because it delighted the boy to jump, and let out a happy breath. This was the other side of what he saw at work, the light from which the shadows came; life as it should be, without fear or rage or endless pain. It wouldn't last forever, but nothing did.

_The trick…is to make it last as long as possible. And enjoy it while it does. _

And sometimes it was just as easy as making a little boy laugh.

**x**

Rosalie was waiting for Grissom in the lobby when he arrived at her facility, and he returned her kiss on his cheek and signed in with the nurse at the desk before escorting his mother out to his waiting taxi. She was as elegant as ever, every white hair in place and wearing a dress the color of her name, but to his eyes she seemed just a little frailer than the last time he'd seen her that spring. To his wary relief, she showed few signs of confusion, and peppered him with silent questions about Sara, about their engagement, about Sara's family. Almost the first question off her fingers was "When's the wedding?"

Grissom shook his head, and mentally checked off his bet with himself. "We haven't set a date, Mom. It's entirely up to Sara."

Rosalie arched a brow at this. "Yes, but what do _you_ want?"

A small part of Grissom would have liked to escort Sara to the nearest chapel in Vegas as soon as possible, no matter how tacky, to have the seal of her promise at last, but he answered with the larger truth. "I want her to be happy. I don't want her to feel rushed or pushed."

Rosalie gave him a small smile. "Wise of you," she signed.

Over dinner at her favorite restaurant, a seafood place that overlooked the ocean, Grissom got her to tell him about her new residence and new friends; the sort of extended detail that didn't make it into e-mails or TTY conversations. In turn, she interrogated him gently about moving back to Vegas and how Sara was settling in.

"Working separate shifts, Gil? Is that a good idea?" she asked when he described their setup. Grissom sighed.

"Maybe not; it does cut back on our time together. I'm thinking about switching my focus at the lab, coming in during days or just for special cases. UNLV still wants me to work on its post-doctorate program, and there's some courses I'd like to take myself."

Rosalie nodded. "You're at different stages in your lives," she pointed out. "She's still in the full flush of her career; you're at a place where you can make other choices. Don't limit yourself."

Grissom chuckled a little ruefully. "My career has been everything for so long, Mom, it's going to take me a while to detach myself."

His mother snorted. "Past time." She took a few bites of her tilapia, then put her fork back down, and Grissom could tell she was hesitating over something.

He reached across and touched her arm. "What is it?"

Rosalie's mouth quirked, and she lifted her hands again. "Are you two planning on children?" At Grissom's look of surprise, she continued hastily. "I'm only asking now so I know whether to get my hopes up…and so I don't say the wrong thing to Sara."

Grissom winced a little inside. He hadn't thought about his mother's opinion on grandchildren in well over a decade, and disappointing her dismayed him, but there was no point in prevarication. "We…decided no. Children don't really fit our plans, and they aren't something either of us really wants."

Rosalie smiled at him, only slightly wistful. "Then that, too, is wise." She patted his hand. "Gil, I want you both to be happy. If I want grandchildren to spoil, there are always little ones coming to visit at my new place, or your cousin's brood."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he signed, but she shook her head.

"It's _your_ life, dear. The only opinion you need to concern yourself with is Sara's." She wrinkled her nose, a teasing gesture. "And it's about time."

The comment didn't even sting anymore. Grissom resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his mother--something he hadn't done since the Sixties--and settled for rolling his eyes. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I pick out your Christmas present."

Rosalie snorted audibly and raised her chin in mock offense, and Grissom grinned. _I'm very, very lucky they like each other._

**xxxx**

Sara shook her head in amusement, scolding herself silently. _How can you miss him? He's only been gone a few hours…and you've been living in each other's pockets for weeks now._

But it was true. She was delighted to see her family again, to note Ed's arm around Gracie's waist as they supervised the toasting of marshmallows over the coals of the grill, to have a framework in which to picture them in Los Angeles. But she couldn't help feeling wistful because Grissom wasn't there.

It was just a little pang, easily mastered. After all, he would be back before midnight, probably with steak on his breath and wry, loving stories of his mother. _You're greedy, Sidle,_ she told herself. _You want it all._

_And why not?_ asked one unbowed corner of her mind. After all, she'd gone without both for so long, having neither a loving family nor the inexpressible comfort of Grissom's open affection. Was it wrong to want them both to hand?

Shaking off the thought, Sara turned to concentrate on what she had at the moment, and snagged a marshmallow from the bag. S'mores were a rare treat, and Ed did them the way his wife had taught him, using Nilla Wafers instead of graham crackers. Sara approved; the cookies complemented the chocolate and goo, and didn't shatter the way the crackers did.

_Not that they're exactly tidy treats, anyway._ Joey was already liberally smeared with chocolate and melted marshmallow, and Kimmy was not far behind; Ed had a dab of chocolate on his cheek, and Sara knew there were crumbs on her own shirt. But none of it mattered. Eating outside meant that no one had to be too careful of their manners.

Spearing the marshmallow on a skewer, Sara edged between her niece and nephew to extend it over the heat. Kimmy liked hers burnt on the outside, and Joseph's toasting was more a token wave of the confection at the coals, but Sara preferred her marshmallow a nice even tan, the outside caramelized but not charred.

Just as the marshmallow reached perfection, the phone rang, and Ed sighed. "I'll get it." Letting Gracie go, he loped inside the house.

"Who's got the cookies?" Sara asked, and Gracie passed her the box. "Thanks."

"When's Doctor G due back?" Gracie inquired.

Sara pinched the marshmallow securely between two cookies and a square of chocolate, and glanced at her watch; the face was barely visible in the dimming light. "About an hour, maybe."

Joseph said something indistinguishable, and Gracie smiled, reaching over to touch his chin. "Swallow first, kiddo."

He did so, then tried again, his voice somewhat sticky. "I want to save him some marshmallows."

Sara glanced at the bag. "That's a good idea, Joey, and there's plenty. I'll let him know when he gets back." She had no idea whether Grissom even liked s'mores, but she knew he'd be touched by the thought.

Gracie glanced back at the house. "I'm going to go see what's keeping Ed," she murmured, and followed him inside, disappearing through the sun porch and into the kitchen.

Kimmy sighed, and nibbled delicately on a cookie. "Betcha they're going to kiss."

"Ew," Joey said perfunctorily. "Aunt Sara, why aren't there any lightning bugs in Los Angeles?"

Sara blinked at the abrupt change in topic, and hastily swallowed a mouthful of cookie and marshmallow. "Um, I don't know, but I bet Doctor G does. You can ask him tomorrow." She popped the remaining bite into her mouth, and snagged another marshmallow. "Are you guys done?"

Joey nodded, and Kimmy took out one more cookie before following suit. Sara impaled her marshmallow and began toasting. "Okay, Kimmy, will you please close everything up so the bugs don't get in? And Joey, if you wash off with the hose, I'll tell you guys a story or two before bed." She wanted to keep them out of the house for a bit and return Gracie's favor from the evening before.

"Cool!" Joseph meandered off towards the faucet, and Kimmy folded up the marshmallow bag and closed the cookie box. Sara knew that Joey would take several minutes to rinse off the sugar and play with the water.

"Do you mind that? Your dad and Gracie kissing?" she asked in a low voice, turning her marshmallow over the coals.

Kimmy was silent a moment, sealing the big chocolate bar back in its foil, but she finally shook her head. "No. I mean--"

She hesitated, and Sara cocked her head, trying to project reassurance. Finally Kimmy continued. "Dad says he'll always love Mommy, but that he can love Gracie too."

"And you, and Joey," Sara agreed, watching her treat so as not to push. "You two will always be the most important thing to him."

Kimmy nodded. "And Gracie's real nice. It's cool that she came to Los Angeles too."

Sara pulled her skewer away from the coals and put the lid on the grill to extinguish them. "She loves you guys."

"And Dad?" Kimmy asked, as though seeking reassurance.

Sara sat down next to her on the picnic bench that Ed had bought when they'd moved in. "She loves your dad very much too, yeah." One look at Gracie's expression when watching Ed, these days, was enough to reveal that.

"I just…" Kimmy trailed off, and Sara put an arm around her, silently encouraging. Kimmy sighed. "I just wonder if Mommy would like it."

Which meant, Sara guessed, that Kimmy didn't want to be disloyal to her mother's memory. Sara chose her words carefully. "I didn't really know your mom very well, but I think she'd approve. She wouldn't want your dad to be lonely forever…and I _know_ she'd be happy if there was someone more to take care of you guys, since she can't be here to do it any more."

Kimmy leaned closer, and Sara rubbed her arm. "You don't have to forget her, you know. And Gracie and your mom were friends. Gracie wouldn't want you to forget her either."

"I guess so," Kimmy said slowly, not sounding completely persuaded, but Sara held back further words. This was something the girl would have to work out on her own.

Joey bounced back up, the front of his shirt soaked, but most of the chocolate gone. "Story time!"

Sara laughed, and felt Kimmy relax a little next to her. "Okay, but let's lie down on the lawn again so we can see the stars."

**xxxx**

It was not a sound that woke her; rather, it was the absence of a warm heavy body in the bed with her. Sara rolled over, not quite completely awake, and managed to remember Grissom's gentle kiss earlier, his low voice telling her that he couldn't sleep and he was going to go read for a bit.

She pried her eyes open and blinked at the digital clock. _One-thirty…when did he get out of bed?_

Sara sighed, and was squishing her pillow into a more acceptable shape when a faint, high-pitched hum reached her ears. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Sleep receded as she tried, and failed, to remember where she'd heard it.

_Dammit. Sometimes curiosity is a bitch. _Sighing, Sara got up and put on her robe. The hum was gone now, but she could hear Grissom speaking, and she wanted to know what was going on. _For all I know, he's doing a phone consult with someone in Istanbul, but…_

Barefoot, she walked down the hall, seeing a low light emanating from the big kitchen, as though someone had turned on only the lights over the counters. Grissom's voice grew stronger as she approached, and Sara peered around the corner, unwilling to distract him if it was actually work.

But it wasn't. Grissom sat at the island, stately in his own robe though his hair was tousled, and Kimmy perched on a stool on the other side, similarly rumpled. Both of them had mugs in front of them, and instantly Sara remembered the hum as the sound of the frother that the Sidles used on hot chocolate.

"Your mom made it this way?" Grissom was asking, and Sara leaned against the wall to listen and watch from the dark hall.

"Yeah. She said the powdered kind was nasty." Kimmy stirred her drink, and even at that distance Sara could see that her eyelashes were spiky with spent tears. _She must have had a nightmare._

Grissom took a sip of his. "It's quite good. Was she in your dream?"

Sara recognized the tone; it was the one he used with traumatized witnesses, calm and compassionate. She bit her lip, wondering whether to make her presence known, but Kimmy sighed, and swiped at her eyes with one palm. "Yeah. The worst dreams always have her in them."

Grissom nodded. "Our minds can play some pretty nasty tricks on us sometimes." He looked down at the mug he held. "Do you want me to go get your Aunt Sara?"

Kimmy pursed her lips, then shook her head. "No, I think I'm okay."

Grissom cocked his head. "What does she usually do, besides hot chocolate?"

"She finds me a picture of Mommy." Kimmy slid off the stool and went out to the living room, coming back with the framed photo that had sat on a bookshelf in Virginia. "So I can remember what she really looked like."

"That's a good idea." Grissom approved. Kimmy hopped back up on the stool and stared at the photo for a long minute before laying it down.

"Do you remember what your dad looked like?" she asked.

Sara, heart full of bittersweet pride in her niece's strength, started a little at the question, but Grissom didn't seem bothered.

"Not really," he said thoughtfully. "But I was only five when he left, and my mom didn't keep very many pictures of him. I guess what I remember is the pictures."

Sara bit her lip at the void implied in those words, but Grissom's voice was still calm and easy, and his shoulders were relaxed.

Kimmy yawned. "Lotsa my friends in Virginia have parents who got divorced."

"It happens," Grissom agreed.

"Aunt Sara reads me a story, too," Kimmy added, taking another swallow of her drink.

"I could do that, if you want," Grissom offered. "Or I could read you some of this." He tapped the book in front of him. "It's poetry."

Kimmy blinked, considered, and finally nodded. "Okay."

Grissom opened the book and paged through it, and Sara, smiling, turned to go back to bed. His voice followed her down the hall. "In just spring, when the world is mud-luscious…"

_You really have changed, Gil. And I love you._

**See Chapter 38**


	38. Chapter 38

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom woke to the sound of childish voices, raised in what he first thought was excitement, but as his mind sharpened he realized that Kimmy's near-yell was spawned by annoyance. The Ed's voice cut across the sound, hissing at them in true displeasure to be quiet, there were guests in the house.

Grissom lifted his head from the pillow, focusing on Sara across the room; she was pulling on slacks, and gave him a slightly embarrassed shrug. "Sorry about them."

He smiled, but it turned into a yawn that he smothered behind one hand. "That's okay."

Sara fastened the button, and gave him a slightly suspicious look. "What's so funny?"

Grissom stretched, conscious of a small smug pleasure at the way Sara's eyes lingered on him, and ended up with his arms folded behind his head. "They're just such a contrast. When I was a kid, our house was quiet most of the time. No siblings to pester, and my mother never noticed if I made noise."

Sara took a blouse from her carry-on and gave him a thoughtful look. "No point in doing it if it wasn't going to annoy her?"

He chuckled, pleased also at her insight. "Exactly." He shrugged. "It did come in handy when I got my first hi-fi, though."

Sara's laugh was muffled by her top as she pulled it over her head. "Well," she said, tugging the hem into place and smoothing down her hair, "there's been a slight change of plans for the day."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Joey got invited to a day at the beach, and he's really excited. Ed said he could go if you say it's all right, since he has a prior obligation."

Grissom blinked. "Of course, it's no problem." He cocked a brow at her. "Did you really think I'd mind?"

Sara scoffed. "Nah. But Ed insisted I ask." She regarded him for a moment. "Do you want to get up for church? I know you were awake last night for a while."

"Not particularly, no," Grissom admitted. He wasn't that tired, but he felt lazy and contented and not at all like hurrying to get ready.

"All right. I'm gonna tell Joey he can go." Sara slipped out the door, and Grissom rolled over in bed, debating getting up now or waiting until everyone had left. As he lay there, he heard Joey's unmuffled shout of joy, and then Sara and Ed; their words were indistinct, but they seemed to be discussing something, Sara questioning and Ed insisting. Then the conversation tailed off.

Realizing he was thirsty, Grissom got out of bed, finding his robe to make his way to the bathroom. He drank two glasses of water, and decided to brush his teeth since he was already there; as he applied paste to the brush he heard Sara's family leaving, their voices abruptly cut off by the closing of the front door. The quiet, as he walked back to the guest room, seemed almost unnatural, but he let out a soft, slightly guilty breath of relief. He liked them very much, but he simply wasn't used to being around so many people for so many hours at a stretch.

Stepping into the bedroom, he was startled to find Sara there, pulling off her blouse in a reversal of her previous actions. "Sara? I thought you were going to church?"

Sara draped the blouse over the chair that held her carry-on and grinned at him, mischievous. "I was, but Ed convinced me to stay here." Off came the slacks, and Grissom leaned against the doorframe, happy to watch. "So I figured I could find something else to do."

Grissom waited for her to reach for more casual clothing, but instead she reached for him instead, taking hold of the lapels of his robe and pivoting neatly. Grissom found himself on the mattress with Sara on top of him, and grinned back, hands finding her waist. "I take it you'd like some help with that?"

**x**

When he woke again, Grissom opened his eyes to Sara, who was lying curled on her side, watching him peacefully He couldn't resist closing the inches between them to kiss her once more, silently grateful that she was there in his life. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

She gave him a droll look. "It was _next_ to me, technically, and don't apologize. You're out of whack with your schedule."

"True." Grissom let his hand slide down from her shoulder to her hip, a gentle caress. "How long was I out?"

Sara raised her head to glance past him at the clock. "About forty minutes. The gang'll be back from church soon."

Grissom sighed heavily to make her smile. "Guess we'd better get dressed, then."

They were clothed and sipping coffee in the kitchen when Ed and Kimmy returned, Gracie in tow; the latter was wearing a forest-green dress that set off her hair nicely. Kimmy bounced right over to Sara, her sundress fluttering. "When are we going?"

Sara grinned at her niece and smoothed back a strand of hair that had come loose from Kimmy's braid. "As soon as you wash your hands, okay?"

"Okay!" Kimmy sped off, and Ed snorted gently.

"It's amazing how quickly she does something when she wants something else. When will you guys be back?"

Sara glanced at Grissom, and he shrugged, setting his mug aside. "Probably not until five or so. We'll call if we're going to be later."

"Sounds good," Gracie said, leaving Ed's side and beginning to rummage in the kitchen cupboards. "We'll save you some coffee cake."   
Sara pretended to pout. "If you're making coffee cake, maybe I don't want to go after all."

Grissom snickered, and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I could ask her for the recipe."

Sara cocked her head. "Oh, all right then. Maybe you can talk her into giving it up."

"It's a secret family recipe," Gracie demurred over her shoulder, eyes twinkling as she set a mixing bowl on the counter. "I'm charged to protect it on pain of death."

Sara laughed, and drank more coffee. Having stayed in bed so late, they had decided to skip breakfast in favor of brunch, but Grissom felt his stomach growling, and hoped Kimmy wouldn't dawdle.

But she emerged a few minutes later, cheeks pink with excitement at going out to lunch with her aunt and Dr. G--all the more so, Grissom suspected, because her brother had gone to the beach instead. "I'm ready!"

"Have a good time," Ed told her affectionately, and saw them to the door, tossing his sister the keys to his minivan, but Grissom saw him turning back towards the kitchen before they'd even closed the van's doors.

"Remember what I told you, kiddo?" Sara asked cheerfully as she backed the van out of the driveway.

Kimmy, securely belted into the passenger seat next to her, nodded. "I have to look at Mrs. Grissom when I talk, and I don't have to yell."

"Right," Sara confirmed, and Grissom caught her eye in the rear view mirror and winked, which made her dimple.

"Do you want to know how to say 'How are you?' in ASL?" Grissom asked, and Kimmy twisted in her seat, looking eager. He ended up teaching her several more signs in between giving Sara directions, and reviewing what Kimmy remembered; Joey had been the one more interested in learning back in Virginia.

When they arrived at Verde Ridge, Sara merely pulled the car into the driveway in front of the main doors, and Grissom got out to fetch Rosalie. Just like the day before, she was waiting for him in the lobby, smiling widely with excitement. Grissom signed in, and on the way out to the car told her that Joey hadn't come along.

"I hope I can meet him some other time," Rosalie said, not at all perturbed, and let Grissom help her into the vehicle.

As on Friday, Kimmy turned suddenly shy as Rosalie settled herself in the center seat, and only signed a greeting when Sara prompted her, but Rosalie just smiled back at the girl and returned it.

Rosalie reached forward to pat Sara's arm, but they couldn't converse since Sara was driving, so Grissom chatted with his mother as they made their way to the restaurant. Once they got out, however, Rosalie gave Sara a firm kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad that you've decided to get married," she said, beaming, and Sara blushed, which Grissom found adorable. "You are everything he needs, and I will be so proud to have you for a daughter-in-law."

Sara blushed a deeper pink, but returned the embrace. "Thank you," she managed. "Your son is…" Her gaze flickered to him and then back. "…Everything I want, and I'm honored to join your family."

Grissom found his own cheeks heating at her words, and handed his mother her cane. She took it from him with a wink, and they went inside.

There was a bit of a wait despite their reservations, and Grissom knew his mother was bursting to talk with Sara, but instead she turned her attention to Kimmy and asked her a few gentle questions. Kimmy grew less stiff as she found that she and Rosalie could understand each other, and ventured a few shy comments beyond her answers before the hostess came to seat them.

But they had barely placed their orders when Rosalie shot Grissom a challenging look, and turned to Sara. "So, when is the wedding, dear?"

Sara's eyes widened, and Grissom knew his ears were going red. Kimmy, however, giggled. "Yeah, Aunt Sara, everybody wants to know."

Grissom raised his hands, but before he could rebuke his mother, Sara took a deep breath. "We haven't really decided," she said calmly, apparently not trusting her voice. "It'll take a little time to arrange time off. But before Thanksgiving, I think." She glanced at Grissom, as if waiting for him to contradict her, but--startled and delighted--he gave her an encouraging look instead. _That soon? I hope so…_

Her raised brows told him that she'd get in a little revenge later, but she smiled back at Rosalie, who was obviously pleased. "And where are you going for your honeymoon?" his mother asked.

It wasn't something Grissom had considered as more than an abstract, but the idea exploded across his mind, filling it with visions of Sara in a thousand different places--hiking in the Cascades, swimming in a warm ocean, walking down a Paris street…wrapped in his arms in someplace very, very far away from Las Vegas and both their cellphones.

"We haven't decided," he repeated, drawing Rosalie's attention away from Sara, who was blushing again. "What would you recommend, Mom?"

His ploy worked; Rosalie went into restrained raptures about various spots, some of which she had visited in recent years. Most of them were art-related, including Firenze and Amsterdam, and Sara seemed genuinely interested, but Grissom noticed that Kimmy was starting to get bored.

Fortunately, their food arrived, and the conversation became more general, with Kimmy describing the travails of their move and then telling Rosalie about living near D.C. She had lost her self-consciousness, and was remembering to face Rosalie when she spoke, which Grissom could tell charmed his mother. He smiled at them both, and felt Sara's fingers brush his under the table.

**xxxx**

Lunch with Grissom's mother was fun, Sara decided, though on reflection she felt that it was a good thing that Joey hadn't come along this time; he was a bundle of energy at the best of times, and Rosalie's strength was clearly flagging a little as Grissom helped her back into the van. They had finished lunch and finally gone to the Museum of the American West, which had something for everyone, but they hadn't had time to go through all of it. Now, as she drove them back to Verde Ridge, she talked quietly with Kimmy while Grissom and Rosalie conversed in the middle seat.

If they hadn't been stopped at a light, Sara wouldn't have glanced in the rear view mirror at that precise moment, and wouldn't have seen Grissom's face go taut with half-stifled dismay at some comment by Rosalie, but she did see it, and turned to look more closely. But Grissom gave the merest shake of his head, and Sara turned back, guessing sorrowfully at the reason and acceding to his desire to leave it for the moment.

"Come in for a while," Rosalie invited as they reached her facility, but Sara shook her head firmly; even if Grissom weren't troubled, it was obvious from the fatigue in Rosalie's face that she was too tired for visitors.

"Thank you, but we need to get back. Next time, maybe."

Rosalie acceded, and Grissom helped her from the van and into her facility, both of them disappearing from view through the main doors. Sara sat back, listening to the tick of the hazard flashers and sorrowing.

"Aunt Sara?" Kimmy's voice broke her reverie. "Is there…something funny about Mrs. Grissom?" Her face was serious.

Sara sighed. "Yeah. She has Alzheimer's disease. Have you heard of that?"

"It's something old people get?" Kimmy said cautiously, and Sara nodded.

"Mostly, yeah. It isn't contagious, and it doesn't make them sick; it just makes them confused." And belligerent, and sometimes speechless, and other griefs, but there was no need to go into such detail at the moment. "She's in the early stages, so she sometimes forgets things or gets confused about what's going on or where she is."

"Oh. Is she going to get better?"

Sara winced internally. "I don't think so, sweetie. There isn't a cure for Alzheimer's yet, just some drugs that can help slow it down."

"Well, maybe somebody'll figure out a cure for it," Kimmy said hopefully.

It took almost ten minutes for Grissom to return to the van, and when he did Sara could see the slump in his shoulders, but he climbed back into the car without mentioning the reason. "My mom thinks you're a very nice and polite young lady," he told Kimmy, and smiled when she grinned and blushed. "She'd like you to come visit sometime, if you want."

"Ooh, can I, Aunt Sara?"

Sara laughed, and steered the van back onto the street. "You'll have to ask your dad--I'm not running things any more, remember?"

The trip back to the Sidle house was filled with Kimmy's excited chatter; she peppered Grissom with questions about deafness and ASL, which Sara noted he was genuinely pleased to answer. _Always a teacher at heart,_ she thought fondly.

But his good humor faded when they went inside and Kimmy went off to tell her father and Gracie about her day, finding them on the sun porch. Sara followed behind Grissom as he went into the guest room, watching from the doorway as he tossed his wallet on the dresser and kicked off his shoes. When he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, she came around it and sat on the other side, stretching out her legs and leaning against the headboard.

And she waited.

It didn't take long. After perhaps six minutes Grissom sighed, still looking blankly up. "It was as though we were suddenly having another conversation entirely," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "For a second I thought _I_ was the one who was confused. She doesn't even realize she's doing it, Sara."

With another sigh, he moved, laying his head in her lap like a sleepy child. Sara began stroking his hair with a light touch, searching for words and not finding any. Grissom didn't need to be reminded that Rosalie was safe, and well-looked-after, and loved; he knew those things. This was a situation in which there was very little comfort, and Sara could find none to offer.

"Do you want to move here?" she asked at last.

Grissom turned his head to look at her, startled, but as their eyes met his expression softened into sadness and understanding, and he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. "Thank you. But no. Not...yet."

Sara nodded, and turned her head to press a kiss into his palm.

They were silent together for a while, watching the light fade, until finally Joey returned home. His voice stirred Sara from a sort of peaceful, wistful reverie, and she looked down.

Grissom looked asleep, on his back with his head still in her lap and his hand holding hers down against his chest, but his eyes opened. "Shall we go see what treasures he's found?"

They found Joey in the living room with the rest of the family; he was sunburned, salty, and had obviously had a very good day. He passed around shells--"I found some for everybody!"--and told tales of sea urchins, gulls, and dead fish. His mouth was stained purple from a last popsicle, and as he gave Gracie a lovely piece of sea glass, Sara glanced over at Grissom with half-hidden amusement.

"High on junk food and sugar," she said in a low voice. "I give him about twenty more minutes before he falls over."

Grissom snorted. "I'm not taking that bet." He accepted a bottle of beer from Ed, who passed another to Sara. "Isn't he keeping anything for himself?"

Sara shrugged as Joey emptied his pail for the last few treasures. "He's the generous type."

Her prediction was spot-on; at minute eighteen, Joseph wilted, suddenly running out of energy and words, and Ed scooped him up for a quick wash before bed. Kimmy, a small pile of shells next to her, was already buried in a book.

"What do you want on your pizza?" Gracie asked, rising, and took orders for pepperoni, green pepper, and anchovies before heading for the kitchen to find the delivery number. Sara picked up the empty beer bottles.

"The Sunday crossword is on the side table," she told Grissom, pointing with one of the bottles, and he smirked briefly at her as he picked up the paper. Sara followed Gracie to dump her load into the recycling bin.

Gracie was lifting the phone from its cradle, and Sara's eyes widened as she took in a new detail, but she waited until Gracie had placed the order and hung up before speaking. "Congratulations, by the way."

Gracie gave her a startled look, then burst out laughing. "It's hard to hide a detail from a federal agent." She held out her left hand, palm down, and looked at the ring on it with a shy but delighted expression.

Sara grinned hugely, and came over to give her an awkward but sincere hug. "I guess he just couldn't stand it any longer." The ring was one of those Ed had first looked at, rose gold with tiny emeralds surrounding a diamond, and it suited Gracie's hand perfectly.

Gracie shrugged, blushing a little. "He talked me into it--he's good at that--but we're not going to get married until I have my degree."

"Talk about motivation," Sara teased, and they laughed together. "Grace, I'm really glad. You're good for Ed and I know he's crazy about you."

"Thank you," Gracie said, her smile sincere. "That means a tremendous amount, Sara. I'll admit that until recently I never...thought this was possible." Fading sadness washed across her face, the memory of Danny, but Sara knew it was more in honor than regret by now.

"Yeah, well, I went through the same thing," Sara admitted. "_Possible_ is a bigger word than it used to be."

"This is true," Gracie agreed, opening the fridge for more beer, and smiling down at her left hand as she did so.

Sara closed her hand to feel the weight of her own band, and its promises, and grinned.

**See Chapter 39**


	39. Chapter 39

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Sara."

Grissom reached out to catch Sara's hand as she slid past the couch on her way to the armchair, and she looked down inquiringly. "Hm?"

He drew her down to his side, keeping hold of her hand. "Can we talk about the, uh, our wedding?"

Sara blinked, but didn't laugh at his stumble. "Okay..."

For a moment they just looked at each other, Grissom not quite sure where to start. It had been almost a week since they'd returned from California, and a rush of cases for both of them had left little time for the necessities, let alone any discussion. But now that Sara had voiced a preference, Grissom was determined to make plans.

"So...before Thanksgiving?" he prompted.

Sara turned her palms up, an open gesture. "Yeah, I was thinking. If everybody can get time off. I mean, we _could _have a private ceremony, but no one would forgive us."

The idea appealed, Grissom had to admit--exchanging vows with Sara in some secluded little chapel, devoid of Vegas kitsch and all but the necessary witnesses. But she was right; it would be unfair to their friends and family. "We couldn't just have a party afterwards?"

Sara's grin was wistful. "I wish, but no. Your mom would kill us both, and Kimmy would help."

"True." Grissom leaned back, resigned to the necessity. "Well, how do we do this? I've never had to plan a wedding."

"Me neither." Sara shrugged. "But we can research it."

Two hours later they were sitting at the dining room table, staring at their collection of books with mild dismay. "Between the library and the bookstore, I think we've got enough guides to plan one in the Himalayas," Sara grumbled, picking up Weddings for Dummies and riffling through it without enthusiasm.

Grissom skimmed the index of a thicker, more intimidating book. "Well, this way we won't have to make a second trip. Do we need a planning binder?"

Sara grimaced. "I hope not, but we'll probably be making lists. Starting with guests, I suppose."

"Every time I think about it there are more people," Grissom said with a sigh. "Pass me a pen?"

He scribbled down all the names he could think of; at Sara's look of dismay, he shook his head reassuringly. "We don't have to invite everybody, but this way I won't forget anyone."

"Good idea," Sara agreed, and when he was done took the sheet and added a fair number of names herself. "Okay, what have we got?"

They had a brief, mild argument over invitations versus announcements, with Grissom maintaining that most of his family wouldn't accept and Sara countering that they weren't planning big enough to take the chance; she won.

In the end, the list was short. "Your mother and aunt and uncle," Sara said, tapping the pen on the page as she counted. "My brother, the kids, and Gracie; Cath and Warrick and Lindsey; Jim and the techs; Al and his wife; David and Sylvie; Greg, Nick, Gen, Abdul, and Betty; and possibly dates for the single people."

"What about your work?" Grissom asked, concerned, but Sara shrugged.

"I love those guys, but not enough to invite them to California for our wedding. It's not that kind of relationship, you know?"

"Wait a minute," Grissom said, confused. "California? We didn't--"

"It has to be California," Sara said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Gil, your mother gets tired so easily, we can't ask her to come out here. We'll have it right there, and that way she can party with everyone else without having to quit early."

Grissom stared at her, but she didn't seem to notice, just snapping her fingers as an idea came to her. "Hey, doesn't her place have a garden?"

He found his voice. "Yes, it's a nice one--it was one of the criteria."

"We could have it there, then, if they don't mind. Does that sound good to you?"

Her gaze was frank, casual--she had no idea, no idea at all of how much her words meant to him.

Grissom leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her slowly and reverently. She let him, but gave him a puzzled look as he let her go.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For caring."

**x**

Sara had to admit, once they actually sat down and started planning, the wedding seemed to fall into place fairly easily. The venue for the actual party proved a little more difficult when Verde Ridge said that they could have a ceremony but no party.

"They say it's against policy," Sara complained to Ed, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she folded laundry. "I don't know why--I know they have birthday parties there all the time."

"They're probably not insured for it," Ed replied. Sara could hear Kimmy's clarinet in the background. "What other places do you have on your list?"

She sighed, pairing socks. "A couple of restaurants, but nothing really ideal. We really wanted a more casual atmosphere.."

"Too bad you don't have more time, or I might be able to get you someplace on campus," Ed said.

Sara laughed. "Thanks, but a microbiology lab is not quite what we had in mind!"

Ed gave her a raspberry over the phone. "Not what I meant and you know it. Hey, you could have the party here!"

"At your place?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Ed."

"So'm I. C'mon, sis, it's perfect! We've got room for that many people--"

"Barely."

"Yeah, but you never get all the guests showing up, you know how it is. I'll beat the garden into shape, find a good caterer, and bingo!"

"Ed, I'd love to have the party at your house, but honestly, that's too much work. We can't impose--"

She jumped, startled, as the phone was lifted from her hand. Grissom cocked a brow at her and spoke into the headset, his eyes not leaving hers. "Ed, that's a great idea, thank you."

He listened for a moment, evading Sara's half-hearted grab, then spoke again. "We'll handle the catering end of things...no, I insist...yes. No, I'm sure we can come to an agreement. All right...goodbye."

Grissom gave her back the phone. Sara glared at him without much force and lifted it to her ear. "Do I get any say in this?"

"Talk to your husband-to-be. Seriously, this'll be a good excuse for me to tame the jungle out back. It'll be fun!"

Ed's cheerful voice was suddenly undercut by a repetitive beeping. "Oops, that's dinner, got to go."

"Coward," Sara accused fondly, and disconnected before turning to Grissom. "Now, what the hell…"

He was leaning against the wall, arms folded. "It's the perfect solution," he insisted. "A comfortable venue, and you know it'll be clean."

"Yeah, but it's a lot of work for him!"

"Sara, he _wants_ to do it. You know your brother…he doesn't make idle suggestions." Grissom gave her an appealing look. "And you were going to refuse."

"Nngh." Sara had to admit that Grissom had a point, and the idea was certainly appealing. "Okay, okay. But if he starts complaining, I'm sending him to you."

"Deal." Grissom smirked at her. "And in the meantime, think of the fun you'll have ordering him around."

Sara rolled her eyes.

They chose a date in late October and went back to life as they knew it--sleeping, talking, laughing, and work. To Grissom, the time didn't seem to go fast enough, even though days slipped easily by. Upon discussion they decided to put off a honeymoon until they both had more vacation time saved up, but he couldn't help doing the occasional bit of research. Spending a week in Florida on a sailboat had its merits, but then so did flying to Kyoto to see the cherry trees blossom.

Every so often he would feel a spasm of obscure apprehension, the primal fear that things were too good to last. But then Sara would come home in a foul temper, or a crime scene would be compromised, or some other irritation would occur, and he'd realize that life was just life, good and bad.

Well, that and he was still a lucky SOB. But he knew that.

**xxxx**

It wasn't until twiddling the microscope's focus knob brought no result that Grissom realized how far gone he was. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes, but that didn't work either, and with a hiss of irritation he threw the switch on the machine before breaking into another round of coughing.

The fit took a while to ease, and finally he leaned against the lab counter, panting a little. The cold had started the day before Sara had left for a seminar in Sacramento, but at the time it had been hardly more than a sniffle. In two days, though, it had blown up into a raw throat, coughing, and a constant headache, as well as joint aches and chills. Grissom had ignored the symptoms as best he could, stocking up on non-drowsy cold medicine and skipping the coffee that made his throat hurt worse, but nothing really seemed to help.

"Hey, Grissom?" Greg's voice cut across his daze, and Grissom straightened hastily, fumbling for his glasses at the sight of a file in the younger CSI's hands. "Are you…"

"I'm fine," Grissom snapped feebly, and reached for the folder. "What have you got?"

Greg surrendered the file with a wary, considering look. "Tox results, and they're really screwy. Griss, I know everyone's been working doubles for the bombing at the Pharaoh, but--"

"I'm _fine,_ Greg," Grissom repeated, ignoring the small pang of shame at his shortness. "It's just a cold."

He looked down, forcing his eyes to focus on the printout. "You have nothing to worry about as long as you avoid catching it."

Greg sighed exaggeratedly and left, throwing a "Whatever" over his shoulder. Grissom frowned at the file, trying to bludgeon the information into his brain with only partial success. Some of the body parts recovered after the bombing had apparently had some very strange chemicals in their veins, but he couldn't quite figure out if there was a connection to the bombing itself.

Then a big hand reached into his line of sight, pulling the file smoothly away. "That's enough," said Abdul's resonant voice, and the hand came back, pressing briefly against Grissom's forehead. "You're quite right, Greg."

"Right about what?" Grissom said, or tried to, but a cough rose up in his throat and distracted him.

"Right in that it's time for you to go home," Abdul said firmly. "You've been working almost nonstop for two days. I don't want to have to explain to Isabeau that I let you work yourself into pneumonia."

Grissom found the rather crumpled handkerchief in his pocket and wiped his eyes. "May I remind you that she is my supervisor, not you?"

Abdul's smile was ironic. "But I am in charge of the night shift, and as of this moment, you're not on it until you're well. Come on, Grissom." His tone shifted. "The bulk of the processing is done. Go home

and get some rest, before you pass out."

Grissom almost protested, but then remembered the slide sitting in the microscope, the one he simply no longer had the ability to read. "All right. As soon as I finish--"

"No," Abdul interrupted, shaking his head. "Either you take a taxi home right now, or I have Jim send over an officer to drive you."

Greg, standing behind Abdul, gave Grissom a rather apprehensive smile. Given the options, and knowing he didn't have the energy to protest, Grissom gave in. "All right. I'll take a taxi."

"Good." Abdul gave a stern nod. "One will be at the front door in about three minutes; you'll be waiting for it." He turned towards the door, gesturing for Greg to precede him. "I'll be checking, Doctor."

Grissom frowned at the departing men, but even Abdul's "Good job, Greg," couldn't snuff the small spark of relief he felt at the idea of getting home to his own quiet bed.

_And admit it. You really can't do your job at this point._ But it was easy to rationalize; the truth was, the house was empty and cold without Sara, and he hadn't _wanted_ to go home. It reminded him far too much of what life had been like before she'd come back.

His headache was deepening as he went out the lab doors, and Grissom flinched at the morning light and slid his sunglasses on hastily. Fortunately for his eyes, the cab pulled up within a minute, and Grissom climbed stiffly inside, having to repeat the directions when his voice quit working properly.

He almost fell asleep on the way home, and then nearly couldn't see clearly enough to pay the driver. But the house welcomed him with a hushed coolness that felt good on his flushed skin, and Grissom made his way to the bedroom, disregarding tidiness for once and leaving items and clothes scattered behind him along the hall.

He detoured into the bathroom for a drink of water--one effect of the cold was a near-constant thirst--and then the bed, empty though it was, accepted him into rest and sleep.

**x**

He dreamed of Sara, though the dreams were disjointed and confusing; sometimes they were vague images, sometimes sensory impressions so sharp as to be almost real. Her low voice; her hand touching his cheek; the slim solid length of her next to him, so that he threw an arm over her and tried to get amorous until she twisted away with a soft laugh. None of them ever lasted very long, and he worried a little about her, even underneath the heavy sleep.

When Grissom finally woke completely, he felt as limp as a wet rag, and itchy with the need to bathe, but he could tell that the worst of the cold had passed. In fact, he was actually hungry.

Blinking, he pushed into a sitting position on the bed, letting a small wave of dizziness crest and subside, and swallowed experimentally. His throat was still sore, but nowhere near as badly.

He was just about to try standing when Sara came through the bedroom door carrying a tray, and he stared at her, his brain spinning in place as he tried to figure out why she was there. "Sara?" His voice was still hoarse. "I thought you were in Sacramento."

"I was." She managed to bend and brush a light kiss over his chapped lips without tipping the tray. "Greg called me."

Grissom closed his eyes in mingled embarrassment and relief. "I'll kill him."

"No you won't." She sat down on the bed next to his legs. "He did the right thing, Gil. I couldn't wake you when I got home, I was starting to get worried. Then I found out how long you'd been up."

She handed him a glass of orange juice, her expression gentle. "I'll wait to yell at you for that until you're feeling better."

The juice reminded Grissom how thirsty he was, and he took it, sipping slowly in deference to his throat. "Greg shouldn't have called you away from your seminar."

Sara gave him a tolerant look. "Of course he should have. It's just a seminar, Gil. I can always take it again if I have to." She set the tray in his lap. "You're what's important."

Grissom reached for her hand, squeezing it once. "Well, I'm glad you are here. I missed you."

Sara laughed and squeezed back. "I missed you too."

The tray held a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, and another glass full of milk. No bacon, but Grissom didn't expect any. "I can't eat all this."

"Try," Sara said sternly. "You've been asleep for most of the last twenty-four hours, and I seriously doubt you were eating much before that. You need the nutrients."

When she took that tone, there was really no arguing with her. Grissom picked up his fork obediently. _It's either that or she'll start feeding me herself._

To his surprise, he was able to finish almost three-quarters of the food, but the energy it brought only made him more aware of how badly he wanted a shower. Knowing that his knees were going to be wobbly, he tried to shoo Sara. "I think I've had enough. Have you eaten?"

"Yep." She stood and took the tray from his lap, and for a moment Grissom thought he'd succeeded, but instead she just put it on the bedside table. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." He plucked at the T-shirt he was wearing, conscious of its dampness. "I could use a shower, though."

She grinned, stood, and held out a hand, and with an internal sigh Grissom realized there was no getting out of it. So he put his hand in hers and let him pull him to his feet.

Sure enough, he nearly lost his balance, and Sara put a quick arm around his waist to steady him. "I hate this," he muttered, embarrassed, and she gave him a puzzled look.

"You're sick, Gil. It happens."

"I feel old." He stepped away from her and headed for the bathroom, feeling petulant and stubborn.

Sara walked beside him, but didn't reach out to take his arm. "You're not old. You're recovering from what was almost pneumonia. You're allowed to feel shaky."

Grissom reached the doorway and leaned against it. Her eyes were on him, warm and caring and concerned, and he sighed again, letting some of the irritation out with it. "Am I whining?"

Her smile started slowly, but took over her whole face, and he couldn't help a reluctant, answering smile. "Yeah."

Shaking his head, Grissom let her put her arm around him and lead him to the shower.

**x**

Sara waited until the water was hissing at full force before scooping up Grissom's discarded clothes and dumping them in the hamper. The steam would make him feel better, but she knew he'd probably want to go right back to sleep when he got out, so she went to strip and remake the bed.

Tucking in sheets and fluffing pillows gave her an outlet for some of her suppressed emotion. She'd been more worried about Grissom than she'd let him know; Greg's call had sent her driving home at once, and she'd found Grissom sunk in a deep sleep and wheezing, and had nearly called 911 on the spot.

But a call to their insurance's nurse service calmed her a little, and instead she had tended him and let him sleep, rousing him just enough to swallow some aspirin and water and keeping an eye on his temperature. He had sometimes stirred and muttered in dream, and at one point, when she'd laid down beside him to rest for a bit, had nuzzled up against her in a fashion that had made her think his dreams were pretty pleasant.

And just when she'd planned to wake him so he could eat something, he'd woken on his own.

_Was that luck, or our sense of timing? _

Sara smoothed the comforter over the crisp sheets, then headed back into the bathroom. Grissom was dimly visible through the frosted glass of the shower, still leaning against the wall; he'd started to shiver as soon as he'd stripped, and she figured he was still warming up. Quickly she pulled off her own clothes and slid the door open to follow him inside. At his look of surprise, she smirked and held up her scarred palm. "Turn about is fair play."

It was her pleasure to bathe him, healthy or not, and his half-formed protest trailed off as she reached for the washcloth and lathered it up. Sara stroked soap slowly over his skin and rinsed it off again; not trying to arouse, just caring for him as she had so long wanted to do. Grissom blinked at her like a sleepy child and let her, turning obediently at her direction, and humming a little in appreciation as she cleansed him.

His hair was fun to do; Grissom loved having his scalp rubbed, and always grumbled with delight when she worked the shampoo through the curly strands. But by the time he was clean she could see his knees shaking a little, and Sara shut off the water, slipped into her robe, and wrapped Grissom in the largest towel they had. He drew the line at letting her dry him, though, so she squeezed the water out of her hair and dressed again as Grissom blotted away water and pulled on a pair of pajama pants.

He even managed to brush his teeth before making his way back to bed, and though he was ill Sara couldn't help admiring a little as he crawled between the sheets--the pajamas didn't leave a lot to the imagination when he was bent over like that. Then he was rolling over and looking at her with tired eyes.

"Come here. You need sleep too."

_Well, he's right._ Her hair would dry funny, but that didn't really matter. Grissom held out an arm, and Sara lay down, letting him pull her close so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. His slightly damp hair tickled her chin, and Sara settled her arm so that she could stroke it. _Mutual comfort. _

_It doesn't get any better than this. _

"Love you," she whispered to the back of his skull, and he mumbled sleepily, settling his head more comfortably, his hand finding a place on her hip.

They slept.

**See Chapter 40**


	40. Chapter 40

**Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"**

**Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters. **

**So we've come to the end. If you've made it this far, I thank you for putting up with delays, weird original characters, and a plotline that not only diverted from the show but ran for the horizon waving its arms and trying for liftoff. You folks are the best!**

**(bows to Cincoflex) No way could I have done this without you, my friend!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It wasn't her usual nightmares, thankfully, but it was an uneasy dream for all of that, with threads of intense sorrow and defeat running beneath, along with a thin bright hope. Images, sounds, emotions all passed with bewildering speed--blood and fear, young woods and old history; a flashing joke and the flash of eyes, quiet moments and points of pain. The whistle of a train, the soft boom of a far-off explosion. _Someone is dying…_

Sara's eyes opened. This wasn't the frenetic waking of her nightmares, either, the violent toss into wakefulness with her heart speeding in her chest; it was an easy shift, as though she had stepped through a door and shut it behind her. The dream receded, splintering and fading even as she tried to remember, but it left a sense of melancholy in its wake.

The room was grey with one of Vegas' rare overcast days, light filtering past the clouds and the thin blinds; it looked almost as though everything were underwater, but a clearer water than any Sara knew. She was a little chilly under the sheet, but a big hand rested warm on her hip, and she could feel a slight pressure between her shoulderblades--Grissom's head was pressed against her spine. He always seemed to need to touch her when he slept.

The melancholy faded in its turn, falling to conquering contentment, and Sara debated reaching down for the comforter or rolling over into Grissom's arms. But there was a reason they were seeing in the morning together, and the day would be full. Sara turned, and as Grissom shifted in response to her movement, she grinned and extended a finger to tickle his nose.

His face didn't wrinkle up; his eyelids fluttered, and then opened, and he regarded her with a clear if sleepy gaze, reaching up a hand to catch the one that was taunting him.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Sara teased. "We've got a lot to do today."

A slow smile spread over his face, and with a speed she did not expect in someone newly wakened, he pounced. Sara found herself underneath a smirking Grissom. "Morning," he said, amused, and kissed her.

She let him pin her wrists to the mattress and kissed him back happily, reflecting that his phobia about morning breath…his, not hers…seemed to be just about cured.

**x**

Afterwards, she didn't bother with her robe, just rising nude to poke through her dresser looking for underwear. Grissom propped his head on his arm, watching her, though Sara pretended not to notice as she fished out a bra. But when she turned back to him, the tenderness in his face stole her breath completely.

"Your kiss is made with orange marmalade/apple blossoms, toast and tea/I cannot think of any place I'd rather/I'd rather be…" he quoted softly.

Her cheeks heated slightly at the compliment, and she couldn't help the smile that curved her lips as she quoted back. "My sleepy friend, I always want to spend/Sunday morning here with you/I cannot think of anything I'd rather/ I'd rather do..."

Grissom's surprise made her smile wider. "A child of the seventies--I should have known." He shook his head, grinning.

Sara shrugged, and walked back over to ruffle his hair. "I think I was ten when I figured out how dirty his lyrics really are." She dodged his lazy grab for her and went to get dressed, savoring the sweetness of his compliment.

"No tea?" he called after her as she went into the bathroom, and she laughed.

"It's Saturday. C'mon, Gil, we have to be in Los Angeles by two or Ed'll send out the Highway Patrol to find us."

Sara found herself oddly aglow with anticipation, and kept laughing silently at her own feelings. _I never thought I'd be so excited about this. Not since I was about six, anyway._ But she didn't mind. It had been a little over a year since Grissom had dropped back into her life, and everything had changed--for the better.

Grissom was feeling pretty anticipatory himself, she noted, watching his soft absent smile show up again and again as he made them breakfast. "Do you really think it'll take us six hours to get there?" he asked, sliding eggs onto a plate.

Sara sliced up a pear. "Not really, but just to be on the safe side. Besides, the sooner we show up, the more time we'll have to veto."

Grissom snickered. "You gave Ed control of this thing, Sara--do you really doubt him?"

She grinned. "Nah. But I know my brother. He has to have _something _up his sleeve."

After breakfast, which was quick but delicious, she washed the dishes while Grissom put their bags in the trunk of her car; when he came back in, she made him apply sunscreen. "If we're putting the top down, Gil, you're wearing it."

He grumbled, but complied, and Sara slathered the stuff on herself. Grissom took the opportunity to anoint the back of her neck, sneaking in a kiss next to her ponytail, and Sara poked him gently and twisted out of his grip. "Ready?"

"More than," he replied, eyes warm as he regarded her, and Sara resisted the urge to kiss him properly, reaching for her keys instead.

"Then let's go."

Since it wasn't raining yet, Sara lowered the convertible's roof once they cleared the city, and they headed west, moving out from under the clouds about an hour into their trip. "Do you want to drive?" she asked when they hit the Mojave National Preserve, but Grissom shook his head.

"Maybe later," he said, tilting his seat back and letting his hand rest against the outside of her thigh. "I'm enjoying this."

Sara laughed, and accelerated.

**x**

Kimmy and Joseph both came tearing across the lawn when Sara parked in front of Ed's house, and after a set of tempestuous hugs Sara was highly amused to see Grissom casually reach down and pick up Joey, bundling him over one shoulder in a rare demonstration of strength and playfulness. Joey shrieked with glee as Grissom took one of the cases in his other hand and marched into the house.

Kimmy rolled her eyes. "He's _such_ a baby sometimes," she said to Sara, who took out the other suitcase and used the slam of the trunk to cover her snicker.

"Brothers are like that. You all ready for tomorrow?"

Her niece nodded enthusiastically, bouncing alongside Sara as they headed for the house. "Yeah, and Grace said she would braid my hair if you show her how."

"Sounds good. Thanks, kiddo," as Kimmy held the front door open for her. "Hiya, Eddie."

Ed, arms full of folded towels, passed by with a quick friendly elbow against Sara's shoulder, presumably in lieu of a hug. "Glad you're here! There's a ton to do."

Sara rolled her eyes, snickering. "Nice to see you too."

The house was chaos, but happy chaos. Ed, true to his word, had tamed the back yard, and Kimmy was sent to set up the patio chairs that Sara and Grissom had rented in strategic places before covering them with old sheets to protect them from passing birds. The house itself was already sparkling clean, thanks to Gracie's skills, and she dove out of the den to give Sara a warm hug and to make Grissom pinken by kissing his cheek. "I'm finishing up Kimmy's dress," she explained, a bit breathless. "I'd swear she's growing in between fittings."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Sara agreed. "What can we do?"

"Unpack first," Gracie ordered. "Then ask Ed, he's in charge of everything."

They retreated to the guest room to hang up their clothes, and Sara took the opportunity to give Grissom a warm kiss. He returned it readily, but looked inquiring as she let him go. "What was that for?"

She shrugged. "No reason, I just felt like it."

Grissom cocked his head. "Is there any way I can encourage this mood?" he said, deadpan, and Sara chuckled and led him from the room.

As they emerged, Ed swooped down on them and assigned Sara to help Joseph set up plates, napkins, and tableware for the next day, while Grissom went to pick up the alcohol he'd ordered for the reception.

Sara wasn't surprised when everything was finished by sunset. Ed was a good leader when he exerted himself, and Gracie was nothing if not efficient. They gathered in the living room, the kids looking a little tired with low blood sugar, and Ed rubbed his hands and looked around. "I declare us done. And no way am I messing up the kitchen. Let's go out to eat."

"Waffle World!" Joseph voted at once, but Ed shook his head.

"Nope. We're going to the Old Spaghetti Factory." Kimmy's mouth opened. "And, if you don't argue about it, you can get one of those fancy drinks in the take-home glasses."

Sara suppressed a grin as Kimmy obviously thought better of whatever objection she'd been about to make. _Sneaky man. _

They all fit into the minivan for the drive to the restaurant. The kids perked up once the drinks arrived, with the promised keepsake glasses, and they all took their time over the meal. Sara recognized at least one strategy inherent in Ed's leisure; if Joey was tired enough when they got home, he would go right to bed, and sleep long enough to be ready for the long day tomorrow.

In the meantime, he was busily drawing on his placemat with the provided crayons, and Sara couldn't help remembering Pennsylvania the year before, and the tiny bugs Grissom had drawn on the tablecloth as he and Sara had politely avoided all the things they'd really wanted to talk about.

Grissom's hand slid over hers under the table, gripping gently, and a glance at him made her suspect he was remembering that time too. _So much has changed. _

_For the better. _

**x**

The four of them sat up late that night after the children had gone to bed, just talking, and Sara savored the weight of Grissom's arm across her shoulders as they occupied the couch in the discussions of everything from politics to the possibility of life on other planets. She'd asked Grissom weeks before if his friends were planning on a bachelor party, and he'd given her an amused look. _They might be,_ he'd said, _but I'm not going. I want to spend the evening before our wedding with you, not with a bunch of guys determined to get me drunk._

Sara had to admit, that made a certain amount of sense. Gracie had offered what she referred to as a "hen party," but Sara had refused with thanks. She'd never been much of a party person, and while going out for drinks with female friends did appeal to a certain extent, she didn't want to do it the night before a big event.

So they sat in Ed's living room, Gracie curled up in the big armchair and Ed sitting splay-legged on the floor at her feet, running his hands through his hair until it stood up like a mad scientist's as they debated the colonization of the Moon and the movies of Buster Keaton. Sara felt full to the brim of some warm, calm, happy feeling, and she finally pinned it down as contentment. Her restless, questing soul was at peace.

_Wow._

She leaned her head on Grissom's shoulder, just because she could, and sighed, letting herself rest. _I don't know if it gets any better than this. But…_

_...we can find out. _

**xxxx**

Grissom woke feeling amazingly lighthearted with anticipation. When he rubbed his eyes clear and looked over at Sara, she was curled on her side watching him, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and he raised his brows at her. "Ready to get married?" he asked softly.

She touched his lips gently, rubbing her thumb over his beard. "What would you do if I said no?" she asked teasingly.

Grissom shrugged away the slight pang the thought gave him. "Give you more time," he answered with honesty. "I'd make _you _explain it to Kimmy, though."

She giggled, a sound he didn't hear often from her, and raised her arms over her head for a stretch. "Good thing for all concerned that I am," she said. "Are you?"

Her provocative pout made the question another tease, but Grissom saw the flicker of faint uncertainty in her eyes, and propped his head on one hand.

"I was ready weeks ago. You were the one who wanted to drag friends and relatives into this," he returned with a grin, and Sara let her arms go limp on the pillow and laughed in earnest.

"We'd better not disappoint them, then. C'mon, let's get the day started." She rolled out of bed and onto her feet in one fluid motion, which made Grissom vaguely envious. He got up in slower stages, for once not caring in the least about slightly creaky joints. None of it mattered today.

Sara had beat him to the shower, so Grissom brushed his teeth while waiting for his turn, and got to kiss her as she emerged, not caring about the droplets that dampened his T-shirt. By the time he was clean and dry, Sara was gone; he dressed listening to Kimmy's excited voice as she chattered, apparently on the phone, in the hallway.

There was only coffee in the kitchen today; in a gender-split decided mostly to appease the traditionalists, as Sara put it, Grissom and Ed were due to leave soon to meet Brass, Doc Robbins, and Nick for breakfast. Sara, Gracie, and the kids--Joseph had declared suddenly that he wanted to stay with Aunt Sara--would pick up Rosalie and Susan for their own breakfast. Grissom hadn't been surprised when Jack had elected to stay home until it was time for the ceremony; his uncle wasn't gregarious.

Ed was leaning on the kitchen island inhaling coffee steam when Grissom came in; the man was dressed, and more-or-less upright, but he looked more asleep than awake. Grissom poured himself some coffee and leaned on the other side. "Are you okay?" he asked mildly.

"Hate mornings," Ed mumbled into his mug. "Should be illegal."

"Ah." Grissom nodded, and sipped from his own cup. Sara had said that her brother wasn't a morning person, but Grissom hadn't seen him quite like that before.

Sara herself strode in at that moment, giving Grissom a conspiratorial grin and stealing a sip of his coffee. "We're almost ready to go," she said. "Ed, I need the keys--we're trading cars, remember?"

"Mmgh," was the only answer she got. Sara rolled her eyes, and as Grissom watched in fascination, she got an ice cube from the fridge dispenser and with a practiced move slipped it down the back of Ed's shirt. Grissom watched the resultant jump and snarl, and made a mental note about the ice trick as Sara calmly repeated her demand.

Keys safely in hand, she came around the island for one more kiss, and Grissom let his hand find her waist as he made it a long one, delighting in the sweetness of her, the fact that today was their wedding day.

He felt her smile as their lips parted. "See you in a few hours," she whispered, and let her hand trail down to his as she stepped backwards.

"I'll be waiting," Grissom promised, and Sara kept hold of his hand as though she didn't want to let go.

But Joey came bouncing into the kitchen and took her free one, pulling her towards the door. "C'mon, Aunt Sara, let's go! I'm hungry!"

Even Ed roused enough to laugh, and both men returned Sara's dramatic wave as she let her nephew haul her out of the room.

After a few minutes of silence and coffee, Ed looked over at Grissom, his sleepiness mostly dispelled by a mischievous gleam. "So can I drive the Mercedes?"

Grissom cocked his head, swallowed his last mouthful, and smirked. "Nope."

Half an hour later, listening to Ed talking microbiology with Robbins as they waited for their table at the restaurant, Grissom reflected on the fact that Ed possessed a gift that Sara didn't have--simple, open friendliness. He was as eager as a puppy--a brilliant puppy, Grissom had to admit--to get to know people, in contrast to Sara's reserve.

"Is he always like that?" Brass commented in a low voice, nodding towards Ed, and Grissom turned up a hand.

"Pretty much. As intense as Sara, really."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Brass waved as Nick came in. "Gang's all here, at least to start with. Where's Warrick?"

"He's coming in later with Cath," Nick said, slightly breathless. "Sorry I'm late."

"Relax, we haven't even sat down yet," Grissom pointed out easily.

"I thought Lindsey was coming?" Brass asked, but Grissom shook his head.

"She has tickets to some kind of concert today, which trumps a wedding, according to Catherine."

At that moment, the hostess called them over, and they went to sit down. As soon as they were settled and introduced, Brass looked over at Grissom with a wicked expression.

"So, Gil," the captain drawled. "Looks like you finally pulled your head completely out of your ass."

Nick snickered, and Robbins rolled his eyes. Ed was watching in fascination, Grissom noticed, and took a sip of his ice water. "You're right," he said calmly. "A long overdue rectal craniotomy, at that."

This made the medical examiner guffaw. "Leave him alone, Jim," Robbins said, opening his menu. "He might sic Sara on you."

Ed chuckled at that. "A fate worse than death," he intoned, which brought more laughter.

"So where are the ladies this morning?" Nick asked after they placed their orders. "Off getting manicures and makeovers and things?"

"I believe so," Grissom agreed. "At least, the 'things' part." Gracie and Kimmy had managed to talk Sara into getting her hair trimmed, with possible other primping procedures; Grissom suspected that his mother had been used as a bargaining chip at some point, which didn't bother him at all. She would love to spend a morning with them, and he knew that they wouldn't let her get too tired. "I didn't ask for details."

"Some feminine mysteries are best left unplumbed," Robbins added, which prompted a round of somewhat dirty puns. Grissom looked around the table at his friends, and was suddenly conscious of how glad he was that they were there to celebrate with him.

**x**

The men lingered over brunch; Grissom noted with amusement that while some stories were told about weddings, most of the conversation actually revolved around the bride. Ed was curious to know what she had been like on the job, and traded stories of their childhood in return. But eventually it was time to leave.

"See you there, Griss," Nick said, waving as they parted in the restaurant's parking lot, and Ed sighed.

"Home to the monkey suits, I guess. The women have your mom's place as a staging area, right?"

"That's correct," Grissom answered, unlocking the Mercedes so they could climb in.

Ed collapsed into the passenger seat like a string-cut marionette. "Your friends are cool," he said casually. "How many people are coming to this thing again?"

Grissom did some quick math in his head. As it turned out, none of the techs were coming, but that still left quite a few people from the lab. "Eighteen, I think." He put on his seatbelt. "We should have plenty of everything."

"If not, we can just send out for pizza," Ed said drolly, and Grissom chuckled and backed the car out.

The two men took their time getting ready, not that they had too much to do; but Grissom chose to polish his shoes and brush his teeth again, and make sure that his suit was speckless. Their wedding might be informal, but that was no reason to be careless. _After all, this really is one of the most important days of my life._

As he checked himself in the guest room's mirror, Grissom tried to imagine Sara by his side, but it was more difficult than usual; she had stuck to one tradition and not let him see the dress she'd bought. _Never mind. You'll find out shortly. _

He double-checked his pocket for the ring, feeling...not nervous, exactly, but the same sort of focused concentration that he experienced before going on the witness stand for an important case. Except that this feeling had an edge of joy rather than grimness.

"Ready to go?" Ed called from the living room, and Grissom gave his reflection a firm nod. _Yes. _

_I'm ready. _

**x**

The guests were already seated in the garden when Grissom and Ed arrived. The bride and flower girl were nowhere to be seen, of course, and Gracie was undoubtedly with them, but everyone else seemed to be in place but Brass and Rosalie--his relations, people from the lab, all dressed up and chatting quietly in the sunshine. There was an aisle in between the rows of chairs, but it didn't look as though anyone had chosen a side, per se.

Grissom hung back at one of the doors leading to the garden. "I'll wait here for the minister," he told Ed. "You go ahead."

Ed tossed him a casual salute and loped off to take a seat next to his son. Grissom watched the guests for a moment, enjoying the sight of them, before a hand on his arm made him turn.

"I'm so proud of you," Rosalie signed, before taking his face in her hands and pulling him down to kiss his cheek. Grissom gave her a gentle hug, happy that she was there to see him get married.

"No crying, Mom," he signed back, giving her a teasing smile. "You don't want to melt your mascara."

She sniffed. "It's waterproof these days."

Grissom took a closer look at her. She looked good, not stressed or tired. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she answered, with only a hint of impatience. "Grace had me lie down for half an hour after we got back, and it worked wonders. Don't worry, dear."

He couldn't help a laugh. "I won't, then. Shall I walk you to your seat?"

"Oh, that's not necessary." She gave his arm a final pat. "I have an escort already."

Turning, she waved, and Brass stepped out from a doorway, coming up to offer her his arm. "I'll take good care of her, Gil," he said with a wink, and Grissom nodded in thanks, stepping aside so they could go out.

As Brass was settling her, the minister came from the other direction, smiling. After some discussion, Sara and Grissom had chosen the clergyman attached to Verde Ridge, who was Episcopalian by training but who handled duties for other denominations as well, depending on the needs of the residents. "I've just spoken to the ladies," he said as he reached Grissom. "Apparently we can get started any time."

Grissom heard an echo of Sara in his words, and felt one corner of his mouth go up in a smile. "By all means."

They stepped out into the sunlight, Grissom following the minister up the aisle. He was rather startled when the guests started applauding, but Greg's sharp whistle and "Way to go!" broke everyone into laughter and allowed him to send the younger man a pseudo-admonishing look. Unrepentant, Greg was dragged down into his seat by Abdul, whom Grissom noticed was laughing as well.

Grissom took his place next to the minister, and they both turned to face the seats. Grissom felt his pulse rising with anticipation--and a touch of nerves.

They'd chosen not to have music, but the guests quieted anyway as Kimmy stepped out through the door, her body stiff with concentration but her face lit. She was wearing something lavender and carrying a bouquet, and her hair was braided back into an elaborate coronet, but Grissom barely glanced at her. He was too busy looking behind her, taking in every detail at once.

Sara fairly glowed when the light hit her. She had chosen white, though it wasn't a traditional bridal gown; the formal dress set off her shoulders with a lacy bodice, and her legs with a straight sweep of skirt. She had a spray of blossoms pinned in her hair and a thread of gold around her throat, and for a moment it appeared she had a bouquet as well, until her hand moved and Grissom saw that it was actually a wrist corsage. Her other hand clutched something white; probably a handkerchief, he thought absently, raising his eyes to meet hers.

They were incandescent with joy. The wide smile he loved spread over her face, and she followed Kimmy up the aisle, paying no attention to their friends rising as she passed them. It seemed to take forever for her to reach him; then Kimmy was turning aside and Sara's hand was in his reaching one. They turned to face the minister.

The ceremony was simple and relatively short, and Grissom went through it in a sort of hyperawareness, storing up each sound and sensation, deeply aware of the promises he was making and receiving. His voice shook a little on the vows, every word carrying a joyous, solemn weight of significance; Sara's hands trembled in his as she spoke her own in clear tones. The slide of the ring onto her finger was a strange, awesome _relief,_ the sign and seal of their promises, and the cool new weight on his own hand was satisfyingly right. In this, too, they were partners.

_Forever._

When he kissed her, everything seemed possible.

**x**

It was a good party, Grissom reflected as he looked around the Sidle backyard. _Not that I'm any expert, but everyone seems to be having a good time._

People were talking and laughing and devouring the goodies spread out by the caterer. A small pile of presents sat on the end of one table, despite a request for no gifts.

The ceremony's aftermath was still a bit of a blur, hugs and tears and congratulations, but things were less intense now as people settled down to enjoy themselves.

Habit had him looking around for Rosalie, and he spotted her talking with Catherine; the two had met before. Then an arm slid through his, and he couldn't help smiling at his bride.

"How're you doing?" she asked quietly, eyes crinkling as she smiled back.

"Fine," he answered. "I'm just people-watching."

"It is an interesting mix," Sara agreed. Greg had brought a date, and stood hand-in-hand with her, chatting with Ed and Gracie; David and his wife, Sylvie, were talking to Doc and Mrs. Robbins. Betty and Susan were talking comfortably over their plates of nibbles. Warrick, for some reason, was apparently teaching Kimmy how to fold a paper rose.

Joey passed by with Gen in tow--he had evidently developed an instant crush on the young CSI. "They didn't get a cake, they got a croaker-bush," he was explaining. Sara snickered and let Grissom go to catch up.

"A croquembouche, Joseph, not a frog plant."

Gen still looked politely baffled. Sara glanced over her shoulder. "Should I explain, or should we just demonstrate?"

Grissom cocked his head. "Let's demonstrate."

"Okay." Sara waved at her brother, who came ambling over. "Eddie, let's do the dessert thing now."

He rolled his eyes. "You have no sense of tradition."

"So? It's our wedding, we'll do what we like." She nudged him lightly, and he snorted and headed inside, snagging Nick to help. A few moments later the two of them returned; Ed was carrying a huge platter on which rested a conical tower of cream puffs, garnished with caramelized sugar and fresh flowers.

"See?" Sara asked, giving Joey a quick hug. "No frogs involved."

"Ooh," Gen said, obviously impressed. "How do they stick together?"

"I'm not sure," Grissom answered. "I was afraid to ask."

As the guests gathered around the confection, Greg shook his head, looking disappointed. "I wanted to see you two mush each other with cake," he complained cheerfully.

Sara snickered, and feeling mischievous, Grissom glanced over at her. When their eyes met and she winked, he knew she was thinking the same thing.

Plucking the topmost puff from the tower, Grissom popped it neatly into Sara's smiling mouth. Laughter swept the guests as Greg slapped his forehead in exaggerated rue; Sara chose another puff and reciprocated. Only Grissom saw the flush on her cheeks darken when his tongue deliberately grazed the tip of her finger. Then the others were crowding around to help themselves.

The party wound on as the afternoon slowly deepened; as the sun sank, Ed cleared the sun porch and turned on the stereo so those who wanted to dance could. David blushingly asked Sara for a dance; Robbins swayed slowly with his wife, _sans_ crutch; Greg took Kimmy for a spin; and, Grissom was both surprised and touched to see, eventually Ed turned the base up to teeth-rattling levels and invited Rosalie out onto the small floor. Obviously delighted, she acceded, and they waltzed a song's worth.

"So where are you going for your honeymoon?" Catherine asked as they watched Greg and his date jitterbug to something faster.

Grissom took a sip of champagne, approving his own choice. "We haven't decided yet; we're going sometime next year, when we both have more leave time."

Catherine shot him a slightly disbelieving glance. "Don't tell me the two of you are just reporting for work tomorrow like nothing happened!"

Grissom smirked. "No, we're driving to Mission Viejo tomorrow and spending a few days there. Nothing spectacular."

"Oh. Okay." Catherine herself had had more than one glass of champagne, Grissom judged, but Warrick was driving, and the gentle flush suited her. She shot Grissom a slightly salacious look. "Where are you staying _tonight?_"

Only Catherine had the temerity to ask, but Grissom was years past being offended. "A beach house. It belongs to a friend of my uncle's. No, I'm not telling you the address."

Catherine chuckled. "It ain't me you have to worry about, Gil. I'm not the prankster at the lab."

Grissom shrugged. "I made it clear that we're taking Sara's convertible. I doubt anyone would dare her wrath."

"This is true." Catherine chose a cream puff from her plate and bit into it with an expression of bliss. "Wonderful idea," she said after swallowing. "Where'd you get it?"

"The confection, or the idea?" Grissom asked, amused.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Both."

"The caterer provided the croquembouche. It's a traditional cake alternative in some parts of France."

"Only you would know that." Unexpectedly Catherine rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I'm happy for you, Gil. You both deserve this."

He blinked down at her, startled but pleased. "Thank you, Cath."

Just then Warrick appeared, taking Catherine's free hand. "C'mon, want to dance?"

Without hesitation, Catherine handed her plate to Grissom and let Warrick lead her onto the sun porch. Grissom set the plate aside and looked around for Sara.

He found her talking with Nick on the far side of the yard, her dress standing out in the dusk. Not wanting to interrupt, Grissom slipped up behind her and put his arms around her waist, and Sara leaned easily back against him. Nick grinned at them, and after a few moments left them with a wave.

For a little while they stood, simply happy, until Grissom whispered in her ear, the perfume of the blossoms in her hair sweet in his nose. "Ready to go?"

"Oh yeah." Sara tilted her head back against his shoulder and kissed him, a sweet soft touch. "Let's get out of here."

It wasn't that simple, of course; there were hugs and kisses and congratulations, and Brass' promise to see Rosalie safe home, and Rosalie's tearful proud goodbye to them both. And there was much laughter when everyone spilled out to the front yard, and found that Sara's convertible had been--not damaged--but covered, bumper to bumper, in balloons with "Geek" printed on them. Greg and Nick and Ed looked excessively innocent; Sara tweaked each of their noses in laughing revenge, and eventually the car was dug out and loaded with the gifts and suitcases.

Grissom helped Sara into the passenger seat, and she had the top down before he even got around the car. They drove off to the sound of cheers and whistles and applause, and as the sound faded Sara pulled the pins from her hair and let it whip in the wind, laughing happily.

The beach house was fairly secluded, owning its own narrow strip of sand; Grissom had stayed in it before, though not in some years. He fished out the keys as they climbed the porch steps, and Sara took them from him and unlocked the door.

As she pushed it open, Grissom felt a sudden, unexpected flush of testosterone, mixed with something more intimate. He bent and picked her up in his arms, disregarding her squeak of surprise. The door swung shut behind them as her arms went around his neck. "Hey!"

"Indulge me," he muttered, and carried her through the dim main room and into the bedroom, which was filled with early moonlight. Her low chuckle, and the feel of her lips against his jaw, reassured him that she wasn't upset. Ignoring the strain in his arms, he laid her gently down on the bed instead of setting her on her feet.

Sensing his mood, Sara smiled up at him, serene and sweet, and Grissom drank her in for a long, long moment. Sara, his dream, his love, had promised him that she would stay with him, in defiance of all that might try to separate them, and he knew that Sara kept the promises she made. The last tiny fear at the bottom of his heart had finally been eased, and he felt as though he were overflowing with an intense, urgent warmth.

So he lay down beside her, his wife, his Sara, his, his…his at last. And loved her.

**xxxx**

They spent a quiet few days exploring Mission Viejo and its environs, mostly just indulging in time to be together--eating in small restaurants, walking along the water, driving through breathtaking scenery and arguing happily about the birds they spotted--without interruptions from work or friends or family. But in the wee hours of Friday morning, Grissom woke to find Sara sitting up in bed, frowning thoughtfully.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out to touch her.

She smiled down at him. "Nothing, I'm just restless. I'll sit up for a while."

His hand on her arm stopped her. "Tell me." He wasn't alarmed, but he was concerned.

Sara shrugged. "I want to get started," she said slowly. "Don't get me wrong, this is amazing, spending time with you like this...but I want to go home, and really begin our, uh, married life." She looked down at him, a little embarrassed. "I know, it's stupid."

"No it's not." It made perfect sense, in fact. Grissom sat up, looking around their hotel room. "How quickly can you pack?"

They drove into the sunrise with the top down, Sara at the wheel and Grissom alternately watching her and the scenery. The chill air of the desert dawn whipped color into her face, and when they pulled up in front of the townhouse he leaned over and kissed her. Her cheeks were cold, but her lips were warm, warm...

Sara laughed, and kissed him back, and they went inside to begin.

**End. **


End file.
